Chocolate Covered Love
by johnnydicaprio
Summary: Me and Potter? Please. Don't make laugh. Of course I haven't just kissed James Potter. Of course I'm not running away from him as fast as my legs will carry me. Don't be ridiculous. Who told you this atrocious lie? I promise I'll only kill them a little.
1. I Plead Innocent

_Hello there. Well, I've decided to try my hand at writing in first person, and a James and Lily story. I'm a huge fan of this couple, they're so dysfunctional, but fit beautifully together. It's delicious. I've recently gone back to the earlier chapters and have edited things that annoy me - but nothing's changed much, really.  
_

_Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Reviews are wonderful, flames are inevitable, constructive criticism is much appreciated. Must warn you, though - this story is what it is - **quite **melodramatic, **quite **exaggerated, lots of teenage thoughts and overly dramatic prose. It's incredibly fun to write, hope its as much fun to read.  
_

_I'll shut up now. _

_Johnnydicaprio_

_...  
_

* * *

**- Chapter I -  
**_I Plead Innocent_

_

* * *

  
_

Oh, poo.

Pardon my French, but this situation calls for it.

Bloody, sodding, poo.

I cannot believe I just did that. I cannot believe I just did –

"Lily!"

You keep walking, Lily. You just keep walking. Walking is easy. Just do it.

"Lily!"

Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot.

"LILY!"

He'll eventually give up on chasing you down the hall. He'll eventually bugger off.

"LILY!"

Eventually.

"LILY?!"

_Right. Bugger off now. _

"LILY?! Stop for a second!"

I have half a mind to, but my feet are completely ignoring my brain.

Stop, feet! STOP!

"Lily!"

Alright, now it's getting frightening. I refuse to lose control over my body parts.

I TELL YOU, STOP!

…

FEET!

YOU BLOODY LISTEN TO ME RIGHT NOW OR I'LL -

I feel a hand grab my arm and wince in pain as my skin twists. Ow. Really, _ow. _

Pain.

His chest is heaving up and down, his hands are on his knees, and his glasses are lopsided. "Lily…" he looks up momentarily at my face.

What is that?

Oh, no.

James Potter, is looking at me…with…_pity?_

ARGH, NO! I refuse to be pitied by the likes of him!

"What do you want?" I ask, in my best faked…nonchalantness. _Nonchalantness…_I wonder if that's even a word…

He doubles over and clutches the stitch in his side. Between breaths he manages to spit out, " – why did you do that?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." I say slowly, faking a small frown and looking everywhere but at his face. I note idly that we are on the seventh floor because I've been running blindly as far away from the common room as I could go without breaking any school rules. It's alarming my brain recalls rules even when I am completely consumed with panic.

Wow…he's been chasing me for almost the whole landing. Chasing, suggesting that he was _unable _to catch me. _Hah. _I can't believe I can outrun him, all that Quidditch is doing nothing for his fitness, I suppose.

Ha. This proves my point that Quidditch is an utter waste of time, space, and testosterone. So this is what it feels like to be right.

Potter, the arrogant toerag that he is and his bloody Quidditch can be chucked into the next century for all I care. They are both of absolutely no use to me, or anyone else for that matter. And Quidditch is definately of no use to him; a bloody girl can outrun him for God sakes.

_Liar, liar, liar. You know what Quidditch has done for his physique. Stop lying. Liar._

Shut up, brain. I'm in denial.

_Liar, liar, liar. _

That did not happen.

I did not, I repeat, for good measure, did **not **walk in on James Potter changing.

_Liar, liar, liar. _

I did **not **lose my wand, decide to go and ask him if he'd seen it or not, forget to knock and walk into his room.

_Liar, liar, liar. _

I did **not** see him shirtless, struggling out of his robes.

_Liar, liar, liar. _

And I absolutely did **not **almost have a cardiac arrest when I saw what Quidditch did to his chest.

_Liar, liar, liar. _

I. did. Not.

Oh, and I also did not find said wand in my pocket a mere three minutes later.

You hear me? I didn't!

I'm not one of those girls who get blinded by abs and biceps and triceps and other kids of ceps. I know better.

I did **not **imagine what it must be like to touch those magnificent...AHEM. As I was saying, I know better. I have more depth. More character. More integrity and dignity. Right.

Oh, and this did **not **happen because we are Head Boy, and Girl, and are sharing a dormitory.

Also, I absolutely did **not **stand gaping in the doorway like a fish until he asked pleasantly, "Can I help you?" upon which I stopped staring, and closed the door.

And resumed trying to breathe like a normal person.

I did **not**.

This did **not **happen.

I do **not **fancy James Potter, or any part of his physical being.

I do **not, **never have, and never will fancy him. Or any part of him.

EVER.

If I **ever **suggest that he is anything more than the egoistical, selfish, stuck-up berk that he is, I will request that Mina shoot me. Actually, if I ever happen to feel that way, I think I will off myself before anyone will have the chance.

And for the record, I am **not **amazed by his body.

I am **not** and never will be amazed by the way his abs were so perfectly toned underneath his robes and how his biceps rolled down his arms as he pulled… - not in the super-human kind though, I mean the regular old, completely mundane muscles that all men definitely have.

Regular.

Mundane.

God-given.

From birth.

Completely **not **out of the ordinary.

I bet even Dumbledore has them.

Alright, I went too far.

All things aside, I definitely do **not **fancy him.

Yes. I definitely do not fancy him.

Also, I can outrun him. Not my type of man.

End of story.

"Are you listening to me?" he asks, his voice a little higher than it should be as it pierces into my thoughts.

I really should stop arguing inside my head. I forget to listen to other people…and I really should be sent to St. Mugo's. I think I have a split personality or something.

"I should be getting to bed now, Potter, so I would appreciate it if you got out of my way." I can't believe I just got a coherent sentence out. I'm feeling quite proud of myself, actually. My brain surprises me at the strangest times.

He splutters, and stares at me, his mouth half open.

"You aren't even going to talk about – "

I want to say _there is nothing to talk about, _but all that comes out is "Mfphgghh." Wonderfully, eloquent now, is it not?

He looks at me, a muscle jumping in his square jaw. Not breaking eye contact for a full minute, he just looks at me.

I'm beginning to feel uncomfortable.

I'm not comfortable with eye contact.

Have I mentioned I'm not comfortable with eye contact?

Have I?

I have?

Oh, god.

No.

No, I won't let him win.

I'll make him break it first!

That bastard.

I'm just going to stare right back. That's right.

Into those…_brown_ eyes of yours…actually they aren't completely brown, they have a smallest tinge of green in them, around the pupil, it almost makes it hazel…they aren't hazel…they're quite attractive, actually…

Good, god. He is staring at me.

I am having a staring match with James Potter. I'm surprised my eyes aren't melting.

Okay. I've been staring at Potter's face for a good three minutes.

Time to run.

Run, Lily. RUN!

Come on. Feet, please.

WHY AREN'T YOU RUNNING?

While my feet completely betray me, Potter continues to gape at me as if I'm some foreign life form from outer space.

And all I did was kiss him.

It was just a kiss.

I wasn't thinking straight. I promise. I was….my mind was…my thinking…was compromised. By excessive amounts of chocolate.

Stupid Remus.

Completely his fault.

That's right.

You _know _I would _never_ kiss James Potter.

As far as I'm concerned it never happened. My brain was kidnapped. There was a momentary lapse in my sanity.

I wasn't in my right mind.

Honest.

It doesn't count.

It's like an insanity plea. When you commit a crime, you can get away with it if you're crazy.

I was under the influence of chocolate. Hence, the kiss is negated. Cannot be used as evidence in court!

I am not guilty!

"Lily," he says softly. He still hasn't broken eye contact. I'm getting increasingly uncomfortable.

He moves closer.

_Wait…_MOVES CLOSER?

Lily, step back, step BACK!

COME ON, FEET!

I swear, if you don't move, I'LL CHOP YOU OFF!

He walks straight at me.

I step back. I'm stepping back!

HURAAY!

I hit the wall of the corridor. Oh bugger, I hadn't thought of that.

Oh, bugger. Oh, double bugger. Oh triple –

"Please." He says slowly. _Please_, what?!

Please can mean a lot of things! For example, _please_ don't hit me, don't shag me, don't kiss me, don't kill me, or _please_ pounce on me and take me here right - STOP THINKING NOW, EVANS!

Yeah, I'm completely trapped. Juuust perfect. Trapped between stupid Potter and this stupid wall.

He is in my face. I can feel his breath. Our lips are nearly touching.

I DON'T LIKE THIS SITUATION!

Lily! DO SOMETHING!

"Mr. Potter!"

Oh, my god, is that McGonagall? I can't see anything but James. His eyes, his face, his nose, his lips…get out of my way you gorgeous human being!

He doesn't step back, gives no response, or reaction. It's like he hasn't heard her.

I'm squished between him and the wall. Much too close proximity, may I add. I'm feeling certain things that are better when they are kept in one's personal space.

Really.

This boy has no respect for personal bubbles.

"MR. POTTER!"

I swear, he just jumped straight out of his skin. He steps back, stumbles, and nearly falls flat on his face. I feel my face flush. I see his flush.

"Mr. Potter, Ms. Evans?" McGonagall moves closer, her lips pursed. "May I ask what is going on here?"

Oh, no. Her hands are on her hips.

We're doomed.


	2. Mind Over Pervert

**- Chapter II -  
**_Mind Over Pervert_

* * *

"Here, have some chocolate, Lily."

That's what that slimy git said as he handed me a bar of honeydukes chocolate. He knows I have a soft spot for sweets. That diabolical mastermind. Remind me to beat him to death with his books later for getting me in this mess.

It's all because of his stupid chocolate that I'm in Mcgonagall's room right now listening to a lecture about PDA, or Public Displays of Affection.

Public Displays of _Affection. _

_Affection. _With Potter. I never thought I'd be mentioned in the same sentence with that word without a 'severe absence of' or sold 'zero' present. Usually _affection _is replaced with _violence _and _display _with _parade _when it comes to Potter and I. Merlin help me.

I took the chocolate, of course, expecting nothing to come of it, as Remus used to be one of the sanest and nicest people I knew. I say _I knew_ because he will no longer be mentioned in the present tense if I, and when I get out of this.

I steal a glance at James. He is not looking at McGonagall, but at the floor. I can see him smirking slightly as she goes on about "decorum, manners and empathy."

She's making it sound as if we were making babies in the middle of the corridor.

I've just noticed. I'm calling him James now. This is horrible.

Next thing I know we're going to be married, living behind a white picket fence, with three kids, and me touching his perfectly toned chest every –

NO! BRAIN, I FORBID YOU TO HAVE SEXUAL FANTASIES ABOUT POTTER!

…

…

…

…And kissing his soft lips, and running my hands through his hair as he –

Hey, hey hey! You listen to me, you big mulch of perversion, or I'll make you listen to professor Binns for the rest of eternity until you turn into an unintelligible puddle of brain matter!

…

…

Hah.

That seemed to have worked. Leave it to Binns to scare my brain out of fantasizing about Potter.

My face is flushing. Imagine that. Is it hot in here?

Anyway, I took the chocolate that Remus handed me a little violently, and stuck it into my mouth, looking for refuge from the annoying feeling boiling up inside me as I watched Potter chatting up a girl across the room.

The feeling bubbled over and I grabbed the whole bar out of Remus's hands, and bit off another large piece, imagining that I was biting off his head.

I mean, really, where was he coming off talking to other girls, anyway? Who does he think he is, _Casanova?_ He's supposed to be talking to me, annoying me, bugging me, groping me inappropriately occasionally until he got hexed in the face.

It's all his bloody fault that I went batshit bonkers. Entirely, completely, and one hundred percent his fault.

Completely his fault that I ate the whole bar of chocolate.

Completely his fault that I became increasingly angry by the second.

Completely his fault that I gave into my homicidal tendencies, and desperately imagined ripping that 6th year girl into pieces, and taking that strand of hair she was twirling around her finger and sticking it up her nose.

Completely his fault.

His fault, alone, I tell you.

Completely his fault that I didn't notice Remus's chocolate was spiked with Ruthlessness Potion.

Also his fault that I didn't notice Black sniggering loudly into his fist behind me.

Ergo, also completely his fault that I ran across the room, grabbed his stupid face, pulled him away from that tramp and snogged him in broad daylight as if my life depended on it.

Come to think of it…that _may _have been my bad.

_May _have been.

His lips were wonderfully textured.

Not the kind of soft where the boy has softer lips than you and you feel like he's carrying a mirror in his pocket, but the perfect kind of soft where –

AAAAGH STOP THINKING ABOUT POTTER!

I must say that I actually did not remotely register the gravity of the situation until I heard people wolf-whistling, until I heard faint sounds of clapping and shouting, and Black's hefty groan of "Finally!" I actually think I felt a couple of sickles thrown at my back as if we were some sort of travelling circus.

Potter made a small "Mppfhhg" sound when I forced myself on him, but stopped soon enough and wrapped his arms around my waist, his hands making their way up my thighs. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the tramp give a dignified "_Hmph," _and a small snort as she rose and left the scene.

I would venture and say that this was the moment I truly began understanding what was going on. And that what was going on was in fact, very _wrong._ Terribly wrong.

His travelling hands slipped around my back at this point and he attempted clumsily to pull me onto his lap. I think it's safe to say that I did not let him.

Come on now, have some faith in me.

My mind caught up with my wondering lips. I may or may not have screamed at this point. I recall him pulling away.

I also recall being horrified out of my mind.

Everyone was looking at us.

I mean _everyone. _

Even the sodding first years were pointing, whispering, and laughing, I imagine.

I struggled not to faint right there and then. If the earth had opened up and swallowed me whole, I think I would have been okay with that.

Alas, as the earth does not just randomly open up and swallow people, I ran.

I ran like I've never run before.

That was the only option I could think of that sounded remotely logical to my not-so-very-logical brain.

If you were wondering about the options available, the options were:

1) Run.

2) Deal with it.

3) Keep kissing him.

4) Die.

So I ran.

And you know the rest.

And that's why I'm in this bloody office.

Fucking _chocolate_.

I'll never eat you again!

…

…

…..

THAT WAS A LIE! A DIRTY LIE! I'M A LIAR! I TAKE IT BACK, I'M SORRY! HEAVENLY COCOA PLANTS, DO FORGIVE ME!

"I hope you understand what I am trying to say here, Mr. Potter. You too, Ms. Evans."

Oh dear lord, has she stopped talking?

Listening to McGonagall talking about PDA is insanely uncomfortable.

On top of the extreme amounts of humiliation, she gets all hot and bothered, and flushes too. McGonagall, blushing.

_Intensely _uncomfortable.

It's like your grandmother talking about sex.

Alright, technically my knowledge of human biology dictates that I have know they have slept together, but do I **have **to hear about their wedding night? I mean, really, is it really necessary that I know that grandpa was _gentle_?

I shiver just thinking about it. Eurgh.

Now I've got many disturbing images in my head thanks to her spot-on descriptions.

Thanks grandma. Thanks _a lot_.

Anyway, we nod in unison. Potter turns his head and looks at me. He is wearing the same expression he was wearing in the hall.

I know what that look means, regretfully.

_You aren't out of this yet. _

I take a small, shallow breath that hitches in my throat.

McGonagall looks at him, then at me, and at him again.

"Alright." She's either convinced, or is sick of hearing herself speak about PDA. I'm not really bothered which, I'm just glad she's stopped.

She stands up and walks brusquely around her desk. "Then, I think I can trust you to go back to your Head Towers. Quietly?" Her spectacles hitch lower on her nose, and she peers over them at me. I nod vehemently.

"Appropriately?"

She raises an eyebrow at James. He nods. She gives a small head curt at me, and points to the door. I move faster than I have ever in my life and vacate my seat so hurriedly that I am out the door before Potter has the chance to follow her finger and find out where she's actually pointing.

HA! Let's see if that Quidditch boy can catch me!

Alright, alright, right here, left here, through the tapestry…still no sign of Potter, right, left, watch out for the….kids.

I have just nearly trampled over some 2nd years. But that's fine. I was distraught.

Finally. In the security of the Head Tower.

I can go to bed and forget about this whole day completely.

Actually, I bet I'll wake up, and find that I'm dreaming! I'll just be in my bed and I'll roll around until I –

…

Oh, you've got to be kidding me.

This cannot be happening.

I swear, I am the unluckiest person in the world.

I'm even unluckier than that man who died in a crash on his first trip on a plane.

Unluckier than the woman who got killed by a tire.

Unluckier than the man who got killed by bees.

Unluckier than Frank Longbottom.

That's really saying something.

He is here.

Potter.

Not Frank…obviously. I can't decide whether that would be more or less worrying seeing as Frank isn't Head Boy.

Sitting on the couch.

He looks up. "Lily…" He has that tone of voice that reminds me of a parent scolding a child.

Except that his voice makes my vocal chords knot. I'm struggling not to choke to death.

I wish _I _were killed by bloody bees. I bet it's quick, and painless, and completely comfortable in contrast to the awkward festival I feel like I'm taking part in right now.

What the _hell _was I thinking?

That's right, _I _wasn't thinking. It wasn't me. It was the cocoa and the potion.

And I'll tell him just that.

"Hi." I say gently. My voice is high and so unlike my own. It sounds as if I've inhaled huge amounts of helium. I sound ridiculous. Like those stupid muggle cartoons with characters that have really high pitched voices.

Like Mickey Mouse.

Or Pluto.

Wait, did Pluto talk?

I can't remember.

And that's really irrelevant considering the fact that he hasn't stopped staring at me.

Bugger me.


	3. Bend the Spoon, Be The Spoon

**- Chapter III -  
**_Bend the Spoon, Be the Spoon_

_

* * *

_

"You want to talk about this then?" he asks slowly, looking up at my face. He twists his hands together, glances at them, and looks back at me.

I want to.

I really want to say something.

But I seem to have forgotten how to form words.

Also, my throat is dry.

My throat is _fucking_ dry.

Why is my throat dry?

I cannot believe I am in this situation.

Me. Lily Evans. The Master of eloquence.

Me. The girl who hates James Potter.

The girl who despises the way he makes fun of everyone.

The girl who is repulsed by his arrogance.

The girl who loathes his attitude.

The girl who can't stand the messiness of his hair.

Or the way he makes it even messier by brushing his hands through it every five minutes as he pretends not to notice the entirety of the female population busting their necks too see him do it.

The girl who turns him down every time he asks her out.

The girl who hates him so much she can barely stand it.

I am, within one person, all of the girls mentioned above.

But, confusingly enough, I am also the girl who kissed him because she was jealous of him flirting with some other girl.

I'm afraid I'll never understand why my brain works the way it does.

"I…I – " Is the only thing that comes out of my mouth that can be classified as remotely making sense. Everything else is just an "hmmpg," or an "pleegh," or at one point, a rather unattractive "ooogh."

He just tilts his head and looks at me, biting the inside of his mouth and I'm suddenly aware that I'm standing there, looking completely idiotic. All of my limbs feel too large for my body, and I feel as if I'm floating in space with no purpose other than looking like an utter loon.

I think the smartest thing to do here is just to get my brain to shut down. "I think," I manage to croak out, "I think I'll just go to bed." I'm only able to take one step towards my room before my plans for a peaceful sleep are thwarted.

He steps in front of me and blocks my path.

Blocks my path with his big, annoying self.

"You're severely deranged if you think you're going anywhere," he mutters, crossing his arms over his chest and locking himself into place.

"Potter," I groan, vaguely noticing that I'm rolling my eyes, "I can't do this right now."

"Well you've got to," he bites back viciously, and I stand up a little straighter at his tone. I feel my expression turn outraged. It's not like this is _my _fault! It's not _my _fault I'm borderline _insane_!

"Fine," I snap stiffly, and step back, sitting on the side of the couch and crossing my arms, mimicking him. I tilt my head expectantly.

"Fine," he echoes, as he steps towards me, his shadow falling over the side of the couch and covering me in semi-darkness. For a second it seems like he's going to hug me, but instead he extends his arms and places them either side of my thighs, onto the surface of the couch, trapping me in my place between his forearms.

I think it's a suitable time to swear.

He leans into his elbows, letting them bend slightly, and I can feel his breath on my face as he speaks. "What happened tonight?"

He is so close his hair is tickling my forehead. He looks at me, unwavering, but I'm not about to surrender.

"_What _happened?" I respond, in the tone of voice I've practiced using so many times.

His eyes narrow slightly, but enough to cast a shadow onto his face. "You know what happened," he mutters, not breaking eye contact. He's not leaning in any closer, but the proximity is still enough to be unnerving.

"And what was that?"

"You kissed me."

A second passes and we're still staring at each other, his eyes expectant and somewhat self-assured as if he's trapped me into an answer.

I take a deep breath. "And?" I respond, as calmly as possible, shattering the tense silence.

He doesn't look amused. "Why?"

I swear, when I get my hands on that werewolf he's going to wish his parents had never copulated. In fact, he's going to be _so_ sorry that –

"Ruthlessness Potion," I hear a murmur slip from my mouth.

This is a brilliant development. I've become so adept at multitasking my thoughts that I'm even managing to interrupt my own thoughts now.

"What?" He snaps, somewhat irately.

"Remus," I reply, "He put it into my chocolate. I ate it, kissed you, and now we're here."

I look up at him and catch his eye, waiting for the smug expression to change.

But it doesn't.

Why isn't it changing?

I just told a guy that I didn't kiss him on my own accord. That's supposed to hurt!

Right?

_Right_?!

He's silent.

Silently staring at me.

It's unnerving.

I'm becoming paranoid.

"Potter? Hello?"

"Ruthlessness Potion," he states, his eyes glazing over as he looks up as if trying to remember something. "That only amplifies something you already want to doesn't it? Brings it forward?" He says the words as if he's trying them out on his tongue, but then slowly, gradually, painfully, he looks down – content - and smiles at me – his full blown, I've-just-outsmarted-you-and-I'm-amazing smile.

Oh god.

I must be calm.

Zen. That's what I must be. Exactly. Like the monks in Nepal. Remember trekking in Nepal, Lily? You must be calm like the monks. Be a monk, Lily. A monk.

Ohhhhhhm. Ohhhhhhm.

Ohhhhhhmm.

This is really not calming.

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.

My tongue seems too big for my mouth.

Do tongues grow?

I mean a baby's tongue is definitely smaller than mine.

You know what, that would be the final straw if I had a tongue that just lolled out of my mouth and onto the floor. Maybe I can incapacitate Potter with my tongue –

SHUT UP, BRAIN!

So, for those unable to track my thought process, I've just told the boy I absolutely despise above all else that I want to kiss him.

Maybe not jump his bones in the middle of the common room, but I've effectively told him that the internal desire was there for the potion to act on.

And that's not supposed to be coming from a girl who, until recently, wasted no time in telling him she hated his guts.

I'm feeling sick.

Ohhhh, I can feel my brain turning into soup.

Don't spaz, Lily, don't spaz. You can handle this.

Remember the monks.

Come on, breathe.

Ohhhhmmm.

Ohhhhmmm.

Ohhhh –

I look up at him, and manage to say "Really?" but my voice comes out all squeaky and high.

DAMN THE STUPID HELIUM!

He nods, the million dollar smile never vanishing.

"That's…" I gulp. "Interesting."

"Yeah."

Alright, I must remember what my mother told me to do at times like this. _When talking doesn't get the job done…_

_Run. _

And before he can stop me, I slip from under his arms, swivel my way through the common room as if it was an obstacle course, and successfully escape into my room and shut the door.

I'm not any calmer, and I haven't solved the problem, but at least I'm not kissing him.

I fall to my knees and slide to the bottom, my back to the wooden door.

So much for dealing with it.

It's all Remus's fault. I swear I'm going to _kill _him. I never would have kissed Potter under any circumstance had it not been for that stupid werewolf.

I'm going to –

Oh crap.

Footsteps outside my door.

Perfect. Just perfect.

Use your monk powers to will him away Lily. They can bend spoons. You can do anything.

Come on, Lily.

Ohhhmmm….

Bend the spoon, Lily.

Ohhhhmmmm….

Be the spoon, Lily.

Ohhhhhhhhmmmm…..

The steps are coming closer.

BE A MONK!

OHHHMMMM…

OHHHHMM…

He hesitates.

And then…more footsteps.

Going the other way.

He's leaving.

Thank you, Nepali monks. I owe you my teenage sanity. What's left of it, anyway.

.x.x.x.x.

I woke up. Feeling completely normal. Cheery, if that.

It was Saturday, what could be so bad, after all?

And it was a lovely morning. For about the first five minutes.

It later transformed into a living nightmare.

Only in my world, does that happen.

Oh, and only in my world, does your voice go away due to a badly brewn Ruthlessness Potion.

_Oho. _Remus will die.

If you're going to feed your friend spiked chocolate to get her to snog your best mate, at least do it right. Concentrate long enough not to _mess up the sodding potion! _

I swear, I can barely croak.

Ah, jeans feel so lovely and cold in the morning. I can feel the goosebumps on my arms.

Where the hell is my bra?

"Lily, are you in there? We need to –"


	4. The Wedding Planner

**- Chapter IV -  
**_The Self-Proclaimed Wedding Planner _

_

* * *

_

This is not happening.

That is _not _Potter in my doorway.

I am _not _half-naked.

I am merely having a hyper-realistic dream.

Yes.

"Uhhh…"

That sound did _not _just come out of his mouth.

That is not cold air I'm feeling on my arms, and that is not blood I feel rushing into my cheeks.

"Uuuuh…Lily…"

Oh, god. It's real.

"JAMES!" I scream.

_Hah._ Only in my dreams. I _don't _scream. I _can't _scream.

Oh, I try screaming, sure. I try so hard I feel like I'm going to hack up my lungs.

However, nothing remotely resembling a scream comes out of my mouth.

Instead, I cough as if I were a chain-smoker, scamper around my bed, looking around desperately for something to cover myself. I settle for a pillow. Why don't I have a lock on my door? Is Dumbledore some sort of twisted pervert in league with Potter?

I think he's paralyzed. His hand is on the door, and he's gaping at me. "Uuuuh…"

He's turning green. Rather unattractive. I swear, if he barfs over my carpet I will hex him into next week.

"I…I was – I'm…fuck…" he gulps loudly, shakes himself awake, and adjusts his glasses. _Why_ the hell is he adjusting his glasses? I don't think the point here is to see anything _clearer _than he already has!

"I'm just going to…wait," he mumbles, stepping back and forth over the threshold like a lost puppy. "Uuuuuh, outside."

The door clicks shut behind him.

Why?

Why is this happening? WHY?

Because it wouldn't have been awkward enough that I attacked and kissed him in the middle of the common room?

But NO!

Of course not.

Because my life is the grandest of disasters.

I stand up, and stay in my spot for a little while.

I find that time tends to linger when you're suicidal.

I turn my head and see my bra on my dresser. It's taunting me. I _swear _it wasn't there three seconds ago.

Paranoid now, I pull on the first shirt I can find before another Marauder walks in on me, and briskly walk out the door.

The sooner I step into the common room, the sooner I realize what a bad idea it was to wake up this morning.

He's sitting in the couch across the fireplace, his elbows on his knees and his hands in his hair. The chances of me running across the room and escaping undetected through the portrait hole located smack in the middle of his field of vision is extremely slim.

That doesn't mean I won't try.

Run, run, run, run –

"Lily?"

Bugger.

My chest filling with dread, I turn around and am now face to face with his stupid self, filled to the rim in earnest embarrassment.

"Lily, I'm so, _so_ sorry."

Bloody moron.

You can't just walk into a girl's room without knocking.

"Lily?" he asks tentatively, seeing as I haven't replied to him verbally. Seeing as I physically _cannot _respond to him verbally.

I see no other option. I turn on my heel and climb through the portrait hole.

He clambers into step beside me, somewhat taken aback by my non-verbal response. "Lily, come on," he groans, "I'm sorry. Please talk?"

I hate men.

I really do.

With their toned abs and distracting smiles and their complete lack of respect for doors. Oh, how I loathe the gender.

"Lily?" He groans again, getting a head of me and instead choosing to continue walking to breakfast backwards, intently scrutinizing my face expression as he does so. "You can't be _this _angry," he reasons, cocking his head at me. "It's not like you didn't walk in on me."

Oh, yes I can. I attempt to growl at him, but what comes out of my mouth is more like a nails scraping on a chalkboard.

Wait, a second. Did he just suggest that we're equal in our shame? Oh, gasp, I saw his abs, while he got a full frontal! Big fucking deal!

I fix my death glare on him, but he doesn't seem fazed, as I'm still not able to form audible sentences. Without the insults and the threats on his life, my face probably looks like I'm experiencing some severe constipation.

He seems slighting iffy now. "That got your attention," he says in a hollow voice.

My teeth begin to grind. I'm vaguely aware that is not good for me.

He tilts his head in the annoying way that he does, and he stares at he through his annoyingly round glasses. I can't tell if he's angry, upset, bemused, or just plain retarded.

The anger in me is bubbling over. I can feel it.

"I hate you."

Oh, I do.

"Sorry?"

Why is he talking? I haven't said anything.

"Lily, what did you just say?"

…

Did I just say that out loud?

I didn't. I couldn't have. I'm poisoned. I can't speak.

I tentatively make a sound in the back of my throat.

I think it made a noise.

I can speak now.

Oh, my god.

He steps back from me and we stop walking. I can't help but notice we are where we were yesterday. Fate is cruel.

How the hell am I going to explain myself?

I suppose I could say – Yes, Potter, I frequently talk to myself inside my head, however, I did not mean it when I said I hated you, I simply dislike you intensely. Also, I though my voice had disappeared on account of your stupid friends, so when I spoke, I had no idea you could potentially hear me. So, I hate you – but only secretly.

Or, I suppose I could go and throw myself off the Astronomy tower.

I can hear the healers approaching to take me to St. Mungo's mental ward.

"Did you mean that?" He asks tentatively, in a small and confused voice.

I slap my forehead in exasperation.

I clear my throat, testing again to see if my voice is really there, or if it was just an extremely annoying coincidence that I insulted him within the fraction of a second that it came back.

I think I may be hysterical.

"No."

I think that was out loud.

He looks at me, and his expression is unreadable.

I'm crazy.

I'm crazy.

He thinks I'm crazy.

But I'm not going to give him the pleasure of allowing him to know that I worry about what he thinks.

"Do you think I'm crazy?"

Obviously, my mouth has other plans.

I hate myself. I can't seem to make anything come out of my mouth, that has anything, remotely, to do with what I want to say. Which is most of the time, a good thing. But not in the present moment.

He looks taken aback at the question. "No," he says slowly, raising an eyebrow at me. It seems too cautious. He probably thinks I'll bite his head off if he says yes.

"Okay," I say lamely. "Good. That's – that's – "

" – good?"

"Yes."

"Hungry?"

"Starving."

We begin to walk down the stairs, and I'm halfway there before he grabs my hand and leads me through a shortcut across the tapestry. I let him take me. It's a very strange feeling to not care where you're going.

"I'm sorry for walking in on you," he mutters finally, after a long silence. He hasn't let go of my hand yet. He looks over and grins at me, half-impish, half-sorry.

I don't know what to say.

I also don't know why I haven't pulled my hand back yet.

It's cosy in his palm.

.x.x.x.x.

It's beautiful, really, to be greeted by a fountain of pumpkin juice in your face at 8 in the morning.

"Mina, I'd appreciate it if you kept your morning refreshments inside your mouth."

"He saw you naked, didn't he?" She shrills, completely ignoring my biting remark and mopping herself down with a napkin. On the other foot, I'm standing there dripping with pumpkin juice. "Please don't tell me he saw you naked."

This isn't right. I'm not usually the girl who has to deal with all this irrelevant boy-drama. I find it useless. At least I used to. I blame it on Potter and his stupid abs.

At my silence, she presses on. "Ohhh, he saw you didn't he? I _knew it!_" She suddenly spits, slamming her goblet and spilling more juice. "I _knew _something like this would happen! You two, sharing a dorm? _Seriously? _All that sexual tension bottled up into a single space?!"

She giggles to herself and shaking her head, leans back, only to jump up again, screaming, as if she's just understood something. "Oh, my god! Dumbledore did it on purpose!" She begins laughing, winking at me. "He wants you two together!"

"Don't be ridiculous!" I snap, slapping her across the shoulder. "He's like a hundred years old, I doubt he worries about me and Potter." She's still grinning inanely. "You're sick!"

"Oh, please! Open your eyes and look at the facts!" She retorts, waving her hand at me dismissively. "It wasn't mandatory for heads to share a room before you two, did you know that?"

"No…"

"Aha! I rest my case. Old Dumby is a perv."

She's nodding. A lot.

And smiling. Evilly. Frankly, this scares me just a little bit.

"You saw him naked too, didn't you?" She attacks again out of nowhere, pointing an accusing finger at me. "_You_ two are being naked around each other!"

"No one is being naked around anyone!" I scream hysterically, praying to God no one is listening in to our conversation.

She smiles again. Contently, her head cocked in a sympathetic kind of way. "Was it delicious?" I'm far too blindsided to answer. "It was, wasn't it? Oh, I bet it was, what with all that Quidditch and the sportiness, and the practices and the drills – I bet his body was just a – "

"What – oh for crying out loud!"

I give up. I officially do. It's difficult having a pervert for a best friend. There's no point in arguing with her. My head sinks into my arms onto the table in exasperation. She's still giggling to herself. I can hear it. It's driving me insane.

No matter what I say, she's going to turn everything around and into some sort of sexual fantasy or innuendo. Seriously, I tell her _one _thing, and you'd think I was pregnant with Potter's child.

"You're gonna get some, you're gonna get some, you're gonna get sommeee…"

…

"You're gonna get some, Lily's gonna get some, you're gonna get some…"

Is she singing?

Wha –

"Mina, are you high?" I shout, finally, looking up – so utterly annoyed that I've bothered raising my head. The moment my eye level rises, however, I regret ever coming down to breakfast. Why can't I have normal friends?

She's doing some sort of tantric victory dance, waving her arms around and muttering the same chant.

"You're gonna get some, Lily's gonna get some, you're gonna get some…"

First years are now openly getting up and finding other seats around the table, because she's so utterly terrifying in her joyous dancing.

"Mina?"

"You're gonna get some – "

"Mina!"

"Lily's gonna get some – "

"MINA!"

"Whaaaat?" She ceases in her dancing for a second, looking mildly put out.

"What is wrong with you?" I ask, in the most offensive manner as I can.

"Nothing!" she says enthusiastically. "Fit as a fiddle!" She continues now, with her mantra and dance. I think I'm just going to let her. There's no use fighting. I groan and drop my head back into my arms.

Suddenly I'm aware that she's talking again. "Is there some reason as to why you are annoyed at the fact that he saw you naked?"

_Ohhh, that infuriating little –_

"Lily Evans!" She squeals, her pitch jumping in indignation, causing the first years that were brave enough to stand by and watch, yelp in fright and shuffle away. "Did you just _growl_ at me?"

I growled. Yes. _Growled_.

That's how bloody angry she makes me with her tantric dancing.

Breathe. Breathe. Must not kill best friend. I do love her, deep, deep, deep down, after all. "For the last time, Mina, he did _not _see – "

She puts her hand up to silence me. ME. _She's _silencing _me. _I'm surprised I don't have furious steam coming out of my ears. She grins at me and my anger cheekily, scratching her chin in feigned thought.

"Soo…then…"

Please change the subject.

"You saw _him _naked?"

This seems to be the last straw, because I find myself screaming something along the lines of "IDIDNTFUCKINGSEEHIMNAKED!"

She giggles maniacally and dodges the spoon I throw at her with surprising agility. I actually can't believe I'm having this conversation with her –

I feel something on the back of my head.

Oh, my god. He's looking at me.

Alright, alright. I'll act totally nonchalant. I am the _definition _of nonchalant. I _am _nonchalant. The adjective itself. I _am _it.

Yessir.

My leg is twitching and my face is going red, but I still am the definition of nonchalant. Yes.

He smiles, that arrogant half smile that he has. "You alright, Evans?"

His eyes are really beautiful. I'd never noticed before.

Then again, he's asking me a question.

Question.

Answer.

Basic principle of human conversation.

Let's do this.

Come on, mouth.

Say something. Anything. Some words. Any words will do. Come on.

"Fit as a fiddle!"

_What? _

_Why did I just say that? WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?_

He's nodding, his smile awkward and stretched across his face. "That's…cool." He hovers in his place a little, and people are looking between him as if expecting some sort of catastrophic end to the still-civil conversation. He leans back in his chair and I put my head in my hands.

Kill me. _Kill me now. _

" – and you'll just _have _to have The Cauldrons for the band, obviously, and you could have lilies everywhere – like a themed wedding, because well – your name, and – "

I'm not understanding this talk. It's like a different language. Wedding? What's a wedding? She's already begun the plans for the Evans-Potter ceremony. Good God. She wants me in a satin dress with white fruffles and feathers hanging – NO!

NO, NO! I refuse to be dragged into this!

I'm not getting married to potter! I wouldn't get married to Potter even if he was the last man on earth and all other companionship I had as an option was a goat!

Yes, I'd rather marry a goat.

He's a _Potter. _Honestly. Can you imagine?

Lily Potter.

I'm vomiting in my mouth just thinking about it.

"AHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Oh, great. She's told Tessa now, and they've put their heads together and are whispering like two insane old ladies. I suppose I could use this behavior as viable proof to lock them up in an asylum for ever.

Tessa suddenly looks over at me, Mina watching happily from behind her. "Oh, my God," she gasps, "You _kissed _him?" Her eyes widen in surprise because I don't deny this, and she makes an exaggerated "Ooooooooohhhhhhh…"

Yes, welcome to the nightmare, friend.

"I didn't mean – " I start, but Mina interrupts.

"Where have you been, Tessa, weren't you in the common room? _Everyone _saw, I can't believe you missed the event of the year – "

I'm disgusted by my friends.

"Yes, thank you – this is making me feel splendid. Keep talking about this mistake as if it is everything but a epic lapse in my judgment."

I stab a sausage because I'm angry.

I hear the jovial laughter coming from the other side of the table where Potter is having breakfast with his friends. _Normally_. On the side of the table where no one is planning weddings or drowning each other in pumpkin juice. Why can't I have normal friends?

Oh.

Never mind that last comment actually, I really do prefer my friends because Black just fell face-forward into his food.

And he's laughing.

He has an egg stuffed up his nose, sausage pieces in his hair, and maple syrup dripping down his chin.

And he's laughing.

How can he still be laughing? I must admire his sense of zero self-respect or shame.

I hear Potter's laughter echo down the table. He's rocking back and forth in his chair.

Oh, and look.

There's Remus. The soon the be deceased werewolf. He catches my eye, and gives me a weak smile. I grit my teeth at him, and I think flash him with the very attractive sight of food in my mouth.

He's still giving me the – "It's full moon tomorrow, pity me," face, but no. He shall suffer the painful consequences of making me kiss morons.

I'm beginning to stab my scrambled eggs now, imagining it's Remus's face. You diabolical (stab), plotting, (stab), spiked-chocolate-giving (stab), ingenious (stab), man-wolf.

I'll get my revenge.

You'll see.

You'll _all _see.

He made me kiss Potter. UNFORGIVABLE, I say.

He not only made me _kiss _Potter, but he made me kiss him in the middle of the bloody common room, in broad daylight, in front of the entire Gryffindor house.

Oh, you just wait.

Oh, you just wait, because my revenge will be legendary.

I think Black is looking at me and sniggering.

_Sniggering. At me._

A boy who has an egg stuffed up his nose, sausage pieces in his hair, and a face plastered in maple syrup, is sniggering at me, because _I'm _the one who looks stupid.

" – NO, NO! You don't know _anything!_ Celicita Olivander is an incredible singer!"

"Are you mad! I have a better voice than that woman! I'm telling you, it's Ivander Abbot or nothing!"

"Nothing, then!"

"No, you can't take my wedding away from me!"

"THERE IS NO WEDDING!"

"You stay out of this, Lily. All you have to get up and say 'I do.' You'll be fine."

They are now arguing which song Potter and I should dance to on our wedding night. Soon they'll be discussing the sheets we should sleep in. Apparently Tessa knows an _excellent _tailor.

_Somebody, _please kill me. I'll pay you.

* * *

**Review? :)**

**Johnnydicaprio  
**


	5. Right Place, Wrong Time

**- Chapter V -  
**_Right Place, Wrong Time_

_

* * *

_

"Lily!"

Lately, I always seem to find that people are chasing me. I wonder why that is.

"Lily!"

I turn around, and lo and behold, surprise, surprise, it's Potter. It's like a giant hug, seeing his face all the time.

"Are you alright?" He asks, his face furrowed in concern. He makes to put his hand on my shoulder, but catches my eye and his hand is down before it rises.

I'm alright.

Of course I'm alright.

Why, do I not look alright? Why would he think I wasn't alright if I look completely _alright?_

This must mean I don't look as alright as I thought I did. This might pose a problem. I must look completely alright. I must!

"I'm fine," I mutter, glancing back at him uninterestedly. Looking uninterested when your brain is in full spaz-out is quite the feat, I must point out. "Why?"

"I know we left things a little – and then Sirius, you know – and you left the great hall in a hurry, so I thought – "

Oh.

That little stitch.

He's referring to when Black openly gaped at me, and shouted, for the entire table, and possibly the entire great hall to hear, "HOW'S IT GOING, KISSY KISSY?"

And then proceeded to make obnoxiously loud kissing noises. It was beautiful.

I'm inclined to think that he may have been drunk off his rocker, actually. Perhaps that traitor, whose name I will not mention, is prone to spiking _everyone's_ food and drink with dangerous or mood-altering chemicals.

The kissing noises lasted for quite some time.

I, of course, being the mature person that I am, handled the entire situation with absolute dignity. My mother would have been proud. I was such an adult about it.

I threw my fork at him.

That's right.

I threw my fork. At his face. The way that adults solve their problems. I just aimed and flung.

The delicious strawberry jam that I was carefully spreading on the scone attached to the end of my fork hit him in the eye. My aim was perfect. I was so proud.

He was covered in scone bits and jam.

I then allowed myself to laugh at him for a while.

That's what you get for annoying me.

Jam in the face.

Jam. In the _face. _

That jam-faced wanker will think twice before shouting at me ever again.

Ha. Ha. I think that makes me victorious. I would do a victorious cackle if I were alone, which I am not.

"Lily?"

I've managed to ignore him again. I'm getting very good at this.

"Yes, yes. I'm alright," I mutter dismissively, waving a hand around.

He sighs, and looks somewhat relieved. "I'm sorry about Padfoot, really. He was – it was inappropriate."

"It's alright," I shrug, cracking a smile. "I handled the situation perfectly fine, I think."

He looks at me, and his lips are twitching as if he's going to burst into laughter. He holds back and smiles proudly at me. Alright it's not a laugh, but merely a loud grin. "Yes, I do agree. Very mature."

"I'm glad you think so."

We've begun walking down the corridor together. He has the uncanny ability of inserting himself into my day-to-day activities without me noticing until much later. It must be a marauder trait, because it is severely annoying.

And not in the least bit charming.

"Anyway," he continues, his hands in his pockets, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. "Listen, about this morning…"

I cringe and close my eyes, expecting the worst.

"I really did not see anything."

My eyes pop open. Oh, please. I neither look stupid, or am stupid. On the other foot, he is both of those things, but I digress.

"Really?" I ask, my voice jumping up a pitch in disbelief and dripping with sarcasm. "Nothing? Isn't that lucky, because I was under the impression that you'd seen everything."

He suddenly seems awkwardly uncomfortable.

"Er…"

I wait as he looks above himself into the ceiling, as if he's thinking through all of his possible options. I let him think, because he rarely does. It's like seeing a flying piglet. I might as well cherish the moment.

…

I'm cherishing.

I'm cherishing.

Alright, it's not been at least a _minute _of silence. I would say its time to intervene.

"Potter? Would you like to get a sentence out any time soon?"

He looks down and grins. "I was just lost in thought," he says calmly.

"Was it unfamiliar territory for you?" I interject, and he ignores my jab at this air-headedness.

"I was going to say," he mutters, talking over me," That I really did not see a lot of anything."

_Bastard. _

My mouth stretches into a smile. I think my brain is planning something I am not yet aware of and sees it fit to look evil.

"Is that so? Well, likewise." I shrug, wave my hand around airily, twirl on my heels, and continue marching down the corridor. I do appreciate the coordination between my brain and mouth sometimes. Even if they leave me uninformed.

For a second I'm sure I've won, but his steps echo soon after mine. It's his turn to be skeptical now.

"Oh?" He asks loftily, catching up to me and poking his head into my face. "Because judging from your facial expression," he takes a moment to mimic the fish-like surprise on my face from a couple of nights ago, "I'd say you'd seen quite a bit."

I feel my eyebrows rise on my forehead as I fix him with an unamused expression. "Touché."

"I know." He grins.

For a second, we stand there looking at each other. His smile grows wider and wider every second, as he leans back and inclines himself onto a nearby wall, his hands crossed over his chest, his eyes amused.

"Well," I bite back firmly eventually, breaking free from his intoxicating eye contact and answering against my better judgment, "At least I wasn't the one who looked a hair's breadth from puking all over the carpet."

I take a second to mockingly mimic his very hilarious, "Uuuuuh…"

He rolls his eyes. "Understand that I was – "

" – shocked?"

His tongue flicks over his lips frustratedly, and he smiles again, his teeth flashing, somewhat smugly. "I'd say pleasantly surprised."

I'm feeling my face grow hot. I must be going red right about now. And now I think I'm staring at his lips. They are shiny. And attractive. And so bloody inviting.

Maybe I should stop.

I'm not stopping.

Bugger.

I give myself very good advice, but the trouble is I very seldom follow it. Drawing on my brilliant command of the English language, I say nothing. A closed mouth gathers no foot, my mother always used to say.

Under my gaze, his lips quirk up into a smile. I think his mouth is opening. Oh, no. He's going to speak. Merlin help me.

"I _am _sorry, though," he says, though I barely hear him, and see him only through clouded eyes, "You should know it was not my intention."

"I should hope not," I manage to choke out.

He pushes himself off the wall with ease, and walks over to me as if it's the most natural thing in the universe.

He's grinning.

Why is he grinning?

Am I going red?

Why is my face so hot?

Why am I asking so many questions? Is he making me paranoid?

Wonderful.

I splutter, struggling to find some form of a comeback. Or something to say. I should say something. If we don't say things, dangerous other things can happen. And I can't have that happen. Those things are _so _not happening.

"I…I.."

"What's the matter?"

He's still grinning. Close proximity. CLOSE PROXIMITY. ALERT. ALERT. GET OUT OF THE BUILDING. RUN FOR YOUR LIFE.

This would be really funny if it weren't happening to me.

His tongue darts out of his mouth and grazes his lips again, followed by his teeth, and a large, smug, content smile. He's doing this on purpose. He is amused by this. He finds this funny. _Funny. _

FUNNY.

It triggers something in my brain. Perhaps the come-back center.

"Nothing really," I suddenly blurt out. "It's just that I refuse to have a battle of wits with an unarmed person."

-x-x-x-

I'm losing my grip, I swear.

I'm having one of those laughing fits, the kind where you can't stop, and your eyes water, and you bend over in pain, and you think you're going to laugh out your internal organs, because laughing should not _hurt this much. _

Yes, I'm having one of those. They're good for the health. Except for the fact that I am having it with the worst person imaginable.

I dare you to guess.

Go on, _guess. _

That's right.

James Potter.

Congratulations, you win a free toaster.

And I'm _still_ laughing and we're walking up the stairs to the common room. He's basically carrying me up because I'm laughing so much I can't support myself.

He doesn't seem to complain.

Not that I'm complaining either.

I stop laughing for a moment, taking large, shallow breaths that makes me sound like I've been smoking for my entire life, and he takes off his glasses, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. He chuckles good-humoredly, "Oh, come on! You've got to admit, it was very charming!"

Oh, yes, yes very charming!

Charming enough to give a bloody eleven year old a heart attack!

I hit him, hard, on the shoulder, and he immediately straightens up, but is still shaking with suppressed hysterics. He's biting his lips so hard to stop himself from laughing that I can see them creasing.

I think I focus too much on his lips. Possibly.

"Are you crazy? Do you have any idea how much I screamed when I saw what was in the bag? You could have killed me on my first day here!" I yell, waving my arms around like a lunatic, but suppressing giggles in the process.

What the hell was that sound?

I think a portrait just snorted at me.

A bloody portrait just snorted at me!

"OI! Keep it down, will you!" He's wearing a pink fluffy cardigan, holding a matching dog in his hand, staring at the two of us, and tutting.

_TUTTING!_

A queer portrait is tutting at us!

James explodes into laughter even louder than before when he sees me glaring daggers at the man in the portrait. He seems to be unable to support himself, and he leans against the wall, causing many other portraits to scream bloody murder, upon which he leaps off the wall and runs into the parallel corridor, the echoes of his laughter chasing him out.

I give the portraits one last, terrorizing look and run after him.

Oh I swear, if it were up to me, I'd burn those bastards.

And then make Mrs. Norris use them as kitty litter.

I follow him, breathless, and he _actually _rolling around the floor, attracting more complaints from surrounding portraits that he's being too loud.

He is such a bloody child.

I tell him to get up but he droops his shoulders, pouts, and looks at me with his big puppy dog eyes.

I delicately quirk my eyebrow at him.

"It was a _spell_ Lily!" He whines then, jumping up and throwing his arm around my shoulder, suddenly completely in control of the situation. He gives me a tight squeeze and continues the conversation from where we left off until the portraits interrupted.

His arm is surprisingly warm and comforting. It fits well around the base of my neck. Our heights match too. He doesn't have to lean down, and I do not have to tiptoe.

He stops talking for a while, and the hand over my shoulder gives my arm a little squeeze. At the action, I feel my hair stand on end.

He is not giving me goosebumps. I did not just get goosebumps because of Potter.

I was just cold. Is all.

" – it's not like they were real mice!"

Was he still talking? Imagine that.

I look at him, I suppose my face is between laughing, crying, annoyance and anger. He immediately drops his hand, but I see a smile cracking on his face, no doubt due to my retarded expression. I don't answer him, and he looks up at me, smiling hopefully.

"I was a first year! I barely knew anything about magic!" I hit relentlessly on the shoulder again, but clearly I do not get the message across as he bends over for a final time explodes into hysterics."I cannot believe you still find an enchanted bag full of mice funny! As a _valentines_ day gift!"

I don't remember much of that day. It was very traumatic.

I've always thought that my brain was trying to block it out.

I just remember Potter, as the little boy I met on the train, approaching me and handing me a big brown bag wrapped around a note saying _Be My Valentine_, and immediately running away with young, cute, black-haired boy.

Me, being the _innocent_ and lovely child that I was, thank him and open said present.

I expected chocolates. Or maybe little card. Or something. _Something. _

What comes out of it? What, oh what, comes out of that godforsaken bag?

Remember now, this is James Potter I am talking about.

_Rodents._

Yes. Precisely.

Millions of them.

Thousands of them.

It was like the bloody bag of _fucking _Mary Poppins!

I, of course, drop the bag, and scream my head off.

Upon which Sirius starts laughing insanely and charming the mice to dance over my head. Which, if memory serves, makes me scream even louder.

_Oho. _If I had known how to curse then, they'd be missing a chunk of their nose and limping for the rest of their sorry lives.

The present-time Potter, on the floor again, sitting in front of me in the fetal position to avoid slaps from me puts up his hands and wails, "Give me a break, Lils, I was 11! I'd like to think I'm a lot more mature and – "

"Right, because the _last _gift you gave me was _so_ much more mature!" I challenge flippantly, continuing to hit him, and he gasps, looking aghast.

"HEY! That was a brilliant idea!" He yells and waves his finger at me disapprovingly.

"Of course, if you consider a bag of zonko's products an appropriate gift for a girl!" I shout exasperatedly, and he still is looking at me like I've killed someone.

He squints at me evilly from behind his glasses, crosses his arms and shouts, "That was a great gift!"

I sigh deeply.

"Whose idea was it?" I ask softly, edging my face closer to his.

He looks embarrassed and I can barely hear the next word that comes out of his mouth. "Sirius's…"

"Ah," I heave another deep sigh, wave my hand airly and say, "Black. His knowledge of the female mind is extraordinary, of course. I rest my case."

He looks at me hard for a moment, and I can't help but shrink a little bit. He is quite tall, and when I'm not screaming at him, he seems to be even taller. A sudden smile crosses his face, he smirks annoyingly, and says "Well consider them payback for all the times you've kneed me in the crotch."

What the –?

I have not!

I've done no such thing!

"What does that have to do with anything?" I yell, now annoyed, and getting even more annoyed by the second as he's looking at me and grinning.

How do I always manage to yell at him?

How the hell does he always manage to _make_ me yell at him? Does he _try _to do this, or is it a God-given quality?

He crosses his arms, and looks up, deep in thought. "Actually, come to think of it," he furrows his brow, and clicks his fingers, "– I think you kneed me _as _I was giving the zonko products to you."

Cheap shot.

Fine.

I admit.

I did.

But he had it coming, I swear.

He gave me a bag of jokes for crying out loud!

You know, not a necklace, bracelet, an earring, even a new book or something.

A bag.

Of Zonko's.

He deserved it.

He deserved to be kneed in the bits.

He also deserved it when I dunked the whole bag on his head.

And when the spell-check quills wrote "Moron" all over his face.

And when the Pygmy Puff bit his ear.

Although that puff was really cute and orange and was –

He totally deserved it.

I mean, who the hell gives that to a girl?

Obviously, only James Potter.

"Hey that was _one_ time – " I start defensively, completely prepared to back up my argument with the fact that he is such a moron.

"- Right!" He interrupts me, tilting his head to one side and cocking an eyebrow at me.

ARGH!

" – Fine! Two times – "

" – hah!"

I throw my hands up in the air and yell, "FINE! I kneed you in the crotch several times, alright? Are you satisfied?" I put my hands on my hips and stare at him.

He rolls his eyes, and smirks, "Not entirely."

"Well, tough – "

But I can't finish my sentence because I've just run into something that jumped into my path. It was quite concrete. "Lily! I've been looking EVERYWHERE for you! Where the hell have you been?!"

Hello to you too, Tessa. She looks like a mess.

Her shirt is untucked, her hair is ruffled, she has what looks like pillow feathers in her hair, and a burn through her skirt. Is there a battle going on somewhere that I am unaware of?

I turn and look at James who is staring at her with an expression of worry mingled with interest. I point towards him with my thumb to explain myself, but she's looking at me like I'm Jesus. "I was – Tessa why are you looking at me like that?"

She suddenly drops to the floor and grabs my robes, "You have to do _something!_" she wails dramatically, shaking from head to foot.

"Sorry?" I step away from her and help her up. She's still shaking but doesn't say anything until she catches her breath. I exchange another look with James, who looks utterly terrified now, and backs away from Tessa slowly, looking as though he's scared that she will start foaming at the mouth.

She turns and runs toward the portrait hole, and I realize we are already in front of it. She points to it with a shaking finger and yells, "There's a war going on in there!"

"What?" I ask absentmindedly, my eye suddenly distracted by the image of the Fat Lady idly eating some grapes, nonplussed about the whole scene.

"They are – oh good God, I can't breathe – they're going to kill each other if you don't stop them!"

Suddenly the portrait hole bursts open and I catch a glimpse of a book flying towards the door before the Fat Lady swings to a close. Remus runs at us, his usual tidy robes in a state of chaos, his shirt also un-tucked and his eyes full of panic. He grabs James by the shoulders and screams, "PRONGS! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?"

Potter puts his hands up, a defensive frown on his face, attempting to grab a hold of the situation. "Wait a minute, wait a minute, what the bloody hell is going on here?"

Tessa suddenly jumps back into the scene, and yells from the other side of the room, "LILY! SHES GONE BARMY!"

"WHO'S GONE BARMY?"

This time Remus answers, yelling at Potter, "TAYLOR!"

Potter idly remarks, "Taylor?"

"What's Mina done now?"

"She's going to kill him!" Tessa's anguished scream echoes.

"Mate, _DO SOMETHING!"_

_

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_Review? :)_

_johnnydicaprio_


	6. Battle Tactics

**- Chapter VI -  
**_Battle Tactics _**  
**

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**

"DON'T YOU DARE TALK DOWN TO ME YOU BASTARD!"

Tables are upturned, shielding terrified members of the house from the many fatal weapons flying around the room.

"I'm shaking in my boots, love."

Portraits are screaming, running back and forth between their neighbors, desperately searching for a way out.

"You make me _sick_!"

First years are running away, around, and into each other as they attempt to escape, chased by their own shrieks of fear.

"Oh, you're just saying that."

It's anarchy.

She stands in the center of it all, the air around her so charged with fury, that if you listen closely you can almost hear it crackle.

Just as we walk in, a shoe flies toward us with deadly precision at Black's forehead. He waves his wand lazily, turning it into a bunch of feathers that soar through the air and land on him.

He shakes his head easily, without a care in the world, unburdened as a puppy. "You'll have to do better than that, love."

Taking advantage of a momentary ceasefire as Mina frantically looks around for something else to throw at Black, Remus and Tessa run into the room and fling themselves behind a table with the rest of our year. They seem very well-versed in battle tactics.

I'm not sure if I should be impressed or alarmed.

I attempt to walk in and throw myself behind Tessa, but James grabs my hand and pulls me into a small corner next to the entrance of the portrait hole.

I think we are virtually invisible. That suits me just fine, considering.

Except that my vision is slightly blocked from here. I hear a growl. I'm pretty sure that's Mina.

I can see half of her out of my left eye. I never thought I'd say this about someone I consider to be my best friend, but I think it's time to send her to the loony bin. She'd fit in well there. Make friends. Adjust. And you know, possibly not kill anyone.

She whirls around, and the first thing I see about her is her eyes. And her general lack of sanity, but mostly her eyes.

Not that she lacked eyes before today, but _today, _right this moment, she has _the _eyes.

Like the ones you see in cheap horror movies, where the main villain has a moment of pure insanity and their face goes rigid, while flames explode behind their eyes. So much, that in fact if her stare was directed at me, I'd be rather alarmed that she'd be scorching holes straight through my flesh.

A long, strangled scream erupts suddenly, exploding from deep within her chest, as many useless objects come flying toward Black: quills, ink bottles, a copy of _The Monster Book of Monsters_, a bag of firecrackers belonging to a sulking first year who had to give it up in order to escape Mina's wrath, and what appears to be a purple Pygmy Puff shrieking in terror.

This time, however, his wand isn't enough. In desperation, Black has to fling himself behind the notice board, the inkbottles narrowly missing his head and smashing into the black surface, causing several fourth years hiding behind it to scream, run away and look for another shield.

The book, finding nothing to chomp at, shuffles around the floor, snapping at people's ankles and robes aimlessly. Meanwhile, the Pygmy Puff hits a third year boy square in the eye, who now looks like he's got a second purple nose growing out of his face.

Seeing their fellow battle compadre battling to get the shrieking Pygmy Puff to retract its claws and dismount his face, the kids proceed to look like they're about to piss themselves.

Honestly, I don't blame them. I even internally congratulate them for being able to control their bladders at this point.

If they only knew Mina as well as I. If they only knew the sad, pathetic victims of her last rage blackout. If they only knew that last year she sent three guys, all of them almost three times her height and in 7th year, to the hospital wing owing to a severe case of their faces being covered in multicolored boils, accompanied by delightful green tentacles protruding from their every available orifice. I needed therapy for months. I didn't receive it, of course. And that is a large part of why I am like this.

She doesn't have an anger _management _problem, strictly speaking. She has an _anger _problem.

James is shrinking lower and lower behind me.

_Coward._

He's really hiding for no reason, though. He's silly enough to think that she'll spare me if I get in her way. I long ago learned that angry Mina takes no prisoners. Hard lesson, that was.

"OI!" Black shrieks emerging form behind the notice board, breathing heavily now as he dodges another ink bottle thrown in his general direction. "You just threw a Puff at me! What the hell is your bleeding problem? "

He still doesn't have the guts to let her see his whole body; he's still partially covered, only his head is visible, because _she_ still has a thick, black book in her hand, which could be flying at his head at any momen –

Oh, there it goes.

Huh.

Never knew books could physically _bounce _off people. Black's head seems to be an elasticated surface.

Someone's laughing.

_Is it me? Have I finally lost it? Oh, dear. _

Oh, wait.

That's not me. I'm not going mad.

It's some of the 6th years suppressing bouts of laughter behind their hands. I'd like to see them in Black's situation. Would you still be giggling like a schoolgirl if your nose were a tentacle? I think not. The best you could do then would be to snort. Attractive, that would be.

Mina jumps in her place and lets out a cackle that fills the room. She seems to be possessed by something. An angry banshee, perhaps.

"WHAT'S _MY _PROBLEM?" She flings another book at his face but he ducks away, the sharp edge missing his head by inches. The book goes crashing into one of the paintings, and the occupant squeals, running into a nearby portrait for safety. "WHAT'S _YOUR_ PROBLEM?"

He seems unfazed by her question, as she's got nothing left around her that she can possibly throw at him anymore. Except a chair. And come on now, she's not about to go around hurling furniture at people.

Black, knowing this, walks casually back to his seat, throws his feet onto the table, and flashes her a smile which she promptly returns with a finger. The whole room holds their breath and watches closely as Black leans back casually on the couch. He _does _seem to be poking the bear, the fool.

"Sorry, love, _my_ problem? I'd like to point out I'm _not _the one going berserk and turning the common room into a war-zone." He sighs contently, and follows this up with a serene smirk. "I see you've set aside this special time to humiliate yourself in public."

She storms up to him, her nostrils flaring wildly as her jaw juts out, her features rigid. "The ice you're on, Black," she snarls, "Thin."

"Ooh," Black coos, his hands flailing about comically. "Scaaawy."

"Two galleons on Taylor."

"You're on."

This is a charming new development. They've started taking bets on who'll come out alive. Seems rather pointless, as even those with very little foresight could see that it would be a fool's game to put their money on Black.

"Potter!" I whisper sharply at the tall figure behind me, who's currently in the process of handing two galleons to a black haired 5th year. Betting on Mina, of course. He may be daft, but he's certainly not an idiot. Meeting my disapproving glare, he has the decency to look uncomfortable and somewhat guilty, as if he's just been caught with his hands in the cookie jar. The 5th year waiting for his money is disappointed and sulks away.

"Oh, please," Black harrumphs, sighing exasperatedly, putting up a palm to silence Mina, "Save me the grandiose comeback. Really, there is no need."

Looking like she's just been emptied of all air, Mina deflates, reclines back to the balls of her feet, and sighs dejectedly. "You're unbelievable," she scoffs, throwing her hands up in the air, while letting herself fall freely into the armchair across from Black. "You disgust me, you know that?"

"You flatter me, darling."

You see, I would rather enjoy watching this if I had the slightest bleeding idea of what it was about. I mean, it's actually quite humorous to see Black running around scared half to death like a little girl while Mina stomps about like a homicidal maniac. Alas, it seems as if we arrived in the middle of a conversation and effectively are stranded in the wind, looking blankly from one to the other as they argue instead of picking a side, making banners and cheering.

Potter's head suddenly appears from underneath my arm. He seems to think that his hands snaking their way around my waist –

NO.

- is a maneuver I won't notice. They feel magnificent and warm and brilliant -

NO NO.

Did I say magnificent? I meant _revolting. _ Utterly and horribly brilliant.

I _meant _nauseating. Of course.

Thank god we're by the portrait hole and people can't see us. Because this is social suicide. Under normal circumstances I would have started yelling at him, but this is obviously anything but normal. My brain has obviously been rendered useless by severe amounts of Potter-related mumbo jumbo. We seem to be on another planet.

Actually, come to think of it, he's a corrupted little demon who's exploiting the fact that his best friend might well be killed by mine.

"How _dare _you suggest that I – "

"Dress too openly? Too flirtatious for your own good? I was complementing you, actually love," Black says huskily and throws Mina a feather, which until a few minutes ago, was a particularly lethal shoe. "You're quite like me in that way. I mean, I don't dress openly, but rest assured, if I were born a girl, I would probably be your twin. In any case, for your information, we're a very sexy pair."

Her eyes widen infinitesimally. She is _not _amused.

Bad, _bad_ move, Black.

"Excuse me? _What_ did you just say?"

"That we're sexy?"

She groans, the disgusted sound coming from deep within her chest. "All men are the same!" She decides, repuled. "You can't stop thinking with _that _long enough to form coherent sentences."

Black notices what she's pointing at and seems somewhat appalled. "On behalf of my gender – hey! Don't jump to conclusions about all of us just because _I'm _somewhat of a randy idiot."

"I didn't jump to conclusions," she says airily, waving a hand about, "I took a tiny leap, and there conclusions were."

Oh dear God. James's hands just slid lower on my waist. I should probably stop this. I should probably slap him. But my hand doesn't seem to want to slap. He shifts behind me, and we are, for all points and purposes, cuddling.

I am _cuddling _with James Potter. I am being _cuddled by Potter. _I am in a Potter Cuddle.

Oh for bugger's sake.

My hands are outright _refusing _to follow my orders. I am telling them to hit Potter, and instead, they are contently sitting on top of his hands joined around my stomach, as if all was right with the world and we weren't in a twisted parallel universe where this could remotely be considered OKAY.

HIT POTTER. DO IT. I SAID HIT HIM.

_Or did you say, __**kiss**__ him?_

Oh, Christ. This is mutiny.

_Because if that is what you said, that would be so much easier, since in order to hit him you would have to raise your hand, which is all the way on the other side of your body, and then swipe it across his head, and on the other hand, kissing him would just take one small head jerk and your lips could be on his – It's all about logistics, really – let's be logical, now – _

Alright! That's enough! Brain, I'm ordering you to shut the hell up.

_But look how easy it would be, I mean kissing Potter __is__ magnificent – _

Oh this is brilliant. My brain wants to kiss Potter. First it's my hands, then my feet, and now my brain. Being around this idiot seems to render them useless body parts.

Ah! _MY MOUTH IS MOVING! _

I've always liked my mouth best, anyway. My hands are evil.

"Potter!" I snap sharply, turning around and being greeted by a gigantic tuft of fur on my shoulder. Oh, that appears to be his _head. _My mistake. Damn.

We are now basically nose to nose. I am nose grazing with Potter. I am _nose grazing _WITH POTTER!

WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON WITH THE WORLD?

THIS IS EVEN WEIRDER THAN IF WORMTAIL WERE A HIGHLY-PAID MODEL OR A SEXY, IRRESISTABLE STUDMUFFIN!

...I did **not** just call Wormtail a studmuffin...

I didn't. It didn't happen. When I get angry I get incoherent. And ridiculous.

"Mmm-hmm?" he whispers in my ear.

Goosebumps.

I should be repulsed. He should disgust me. James Potter should sicken me. _I_ sicken me, because _he's_ supposed to sicken me but he doesn't.

I've just realized I'm still looking at him, and he's peering up at me expectantly. "I – um….I…"

I take all the complements back. I really do hate my mouth. Nothing coherent EVER comes out of it. I'm vaguely aware that I lick my lips. Oh, brilliant. I _have _licked my lips.

This is just dandy, now he's looking, where? Of course, my lips. Why must you do this to me, mouth?

I FED YOU!

I'VE HAD YOU FOR AS LONG AS I CAN REMEMBER!

WHY, TONGUE, WHY?

As ever, he is completely unaware of this weird discussion going on in my raving moronic brain.

"Lily?" he mutters, and his chin digs into my shoulder. He raises his head, and suddenly I'm feeling imbalanced. "Lily?" he repeats into my ear. _This _of course, creates more goosebumps. Of course, I remind myself, this is because it is suddenly cold. Not because his breath is tickling me and feels utterly amazing. Obviously not.

"Are you alright?"

I am. I should be. And therefore I am.

But I don't think I'm blinking.

That can't be good.

Healthwise.

I read somewhere that if you don't blink for a certain amount of time that your eyes can dry out and essentially become unusable to the point where you can't see a single thing without washing them out first, and that the first man who ever and I'm rambling.

I certainly don't think I'm going to be able to say anything normal until he takes his hands off my waist. They're too distracting. And warm. And bony. But lovely. I mean gross.

Ah, a distraction when you need one – Mina's thrown another book at Black. Actually, now that I can control my body parts and can focus on something other than Potter's face, it's apparent that she's stood up again, and is attempting to murder Black once more. He's probably said words to her. The idiot.

She needs to be disarmed. "You – disgusting – pig!"

Black lets out an irritated groan. "Look, if you would stop throwing things at me, I could – HEY! THAT'S –"

Alright. Time for peaceful stand-by has passed. TIME TO INTERFERE.

"Mina – hey, hey, hey! PUT, THE CHAIR, DOWN!"

Oh, bugger. I've wobbled into the room.

But see, I'd forgotten something. I've forgotten why I'm wobbling instead of walking like a normal human being.

Potter is still hugging me. And now everyone's looking.

Sounds ceases to exist. Little girls and boys are staring. Because I am voluntarily being cuddled by my mortal enemy.

Mina's even stopped running at Black with the chair. She's frozen mid-step, the chair still in the air. Hmph. She shouldn't be talking, I'm not the one who's gone completely bonkers and progressed to attacking people with furniture.

Black's feet are still up, braced for contact, that now seems to be delayed. A pumpkin pastie falls out of the mouth of a nearby second-year whose mouth has dropped open.

We've literally frozen the whole scene. Impressive.

Black's head shifts and he gives Potter a nod, apparently pleased by the whole situation. I'm suddenly wondering what the nod signifies.

Because we weren't doing anything.

NOTHING!

I suddenly realize that he's still on me. "Potter!" I snap. "Get off!"

The scene seems unfrozen now that we are separated. Black lets out a barking laugh and runs at us, "Prongs, mate! So glad you could join us! Do come in! Have a seat! Would you like a croissant?"

I look across the room and murmur, "Mina, lets go upstairs."

Now that James is off me, she resumes the glaring of daggers at Black and yells, the chair still in her hand, "NO! NO! I'D LIKE TO STAY! I'M JUST PEACHY!"

Black turns around, his hair flapping across his face, and opens his mouth to answer, but Potter puts a hand gently on his shoulder and mutters good-naturedly, "Sirius shut up, if you know what's good for you."

He lets out another laugh, drops onto the couch, sighs, and then says, "Ahh, I can't be arsed. You know bloody well I don't have the foggiest what's good for me."

As we all take a second to look around the now deserted, and partially destroyed common room, no one has the heart to argue his statement.

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	7. Personal Growth

**- Chapter VII -  
**_Personal Growth _

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I hate to be a ruiner of monumentally important moments, but I think it's time to interfere. No one's said anything for the past five minutes, and I've enjoyed as much of this as I can possibly stand. We've all been blankly staring at each other. We've also bored our audience. Everyone's left to do better things and perhaps not be accomplices to murder.

_We_ of course effectively discludes Mina who's been valiantly and persistently staring/glaring at Black, which is beginning to worry me because I am quite sure she's going to gouge a hole straight through his empty sack of a brain.

I mean, I do loathe the boy, but really would not wish this on my worst enemy. It would also harm his hair.

I unfortunately have a soft spot for the boy's hair.

I happen to like it. It's soft and shiny.

I definitely don't want anything to happen to it. Out of all the Marauders, though Potter likes to brag about the beauty of his own, I think Black's hair is the clear winner.

Not that I'd ever admit that.

Or that I had touched his hair once completely on impulse when he fell asleep on the couch in the common room. Potter might shriek at me, go on a jealous rampage and proceed to rip out all of Black's hair for ever touching my hand.

I honestly didn't plan to touch his hair. It's not like I would touch that douchebag unless he were unaware of it. His hair was just strewn across the arm of the couch, and I….I sort of….well, I _stroked_ it. If he happens to get out of this situation retaining the ability to talk, I should really ask him what kind of conditioner he uses, because that was some _soft _hair.

The aforementioned Black is still sitting, rather comfortably, on the couch across from Mina, and is now trying to force Potter to start talking to him to break the very uncomfortable silence. Potter, on the other hand, is glancing over his shoulder at the volcano that is about to erupt.

Her eye appears to be bulging.

This is not good.

Black lets out a tiny shriek, the only explanation for which (besides him being a little girl) is that he's finally looked into Mina's deathly glare.

Potter has now unfortunately moved out of Black's eye-path. He can see her. Directly. I can only manage what that must be like to endure. Comparable to several kicks in the groin, I presume.

This is splendiferous.

Alright, sometimes I make up words.

"So mate," Black mumbles at Potter feebly, running a hand nervously through his hair, looking sideways at Mina apprehensively, who can't exactly be ignored now that she is openly staring him down.

"The…" his eyes now track slowly to the wand in her hand, currently being twirled around her fingers lazily, emitting bright red sparks from the end.

If I weren't terrified of her myself, I'd scream at Black to run as fast as his little legs could carry him. Mina's frighteningly good at dueling, I've witnessed this first hand. I've seen her use hexes and curses that I'm pretty sure she's invented herself.

Sometimes she doesn't even need her wand.

She once just _looked_ at a guy, no wand or nothing, and zits erupted all over his face. And when I say zits, I don't mean the small, barely noticeable red dots that you get from time to time, that are easily covered up with one layer of makeup.

When I say _zits _I mean the painful, enormous, pus-filled, horrendous balls of discomfort that occur once every ten years, and make it look like another face is growing out of your cheek. I mean the kind of zits that _never fully go away. _

I swear I'm not joking.

I don't joke about zits.

It's serious business.

Then again, I'm positive the girls in Hogwarts would still swoon over Black's pathetic self, even with a face full of zits.

Now that I look at him, Black seems unable to form a proper sentence. His sudden change of attitude is surprising. He gulps loudly and loosens his tie. "Um – the…er…the broom –"

If ever there was a time for an axe-wielding maniac to turn up and end his sorry, pathetic excuse for a life, it would be right now. Before Mina blows him up into smitherings. This would be insanely funny if I wasn't afraid of harm to my own person.

"My GOD! Are you completely incapable of keeping your fucking mouth shut?" I hear Mina's unmistakable scream as she throws a Quidditch magazine at Black, but it doesn't make it across the room, coming to a pathetic stop on the common room carpet after flopping miserably in mid air. The rather attractive chaser on the cover scowls at her and zooms away.

Black, however, backs into an arm chair and puts his hands up in defense. "Are you comparing me to God, love? I mean, its great, I'm flattered – but you know…I've never made a tree…"

With a small shriek, Mina jumps out from behind me to lunge herself at Black again, but Potter steps forward and blocks her path. Black looks up from behind him and whispers, "Thanks mate."

"Shut up Padfoot," Potter snaps back tersely.

"What?" Black recoils indignantly. "You betrayer! You're changing more sides than the French!"

"I'm not betraying you, you imbecile," Potter mutters, "I'm saving your stupid life."

Black immediately shrinks back behind him. Mina, being a little short, cannot see Black at all now, and is standing at her tiptoes, trying to resume glaring at him, throwing her arms wide and shifting from side to side, trying to get a better view of Black.

This is turning into a soap opera.

…I want popcorn.

All in all they look pretty bizarre; Mina and Black looking as though they are dancing on hot coal, engaged in an awkward tiptoe barn dance around each other, while Potter stands between them, much like a brick wall.

"Mina," I say patiently as Potter puts his hands on her shoulders and pushes her onto the bases of her feet. "How about we go upstairs?"

I'm trying to avoid a murder here. Black pipes up from behind James, but with a small yelp, he ducks down again, to avoid looking directly at her. Her eyes are like a bloody solar eclipse.

"I have an idea…" he mutters, his voice barely audible against James's back.

Oh, good. He's going to make it worse now.

"You know," Potter says slowly, turning around to face his friend, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Every time you say that, I die a little inside."

Black grins at him.

Mina, annoyed at the lack of sympathy at her rage, looks from Black, to Potter, to me, and back again and yells, "Well, aren't we just a ray of _fucking_ sunshine?"

She really needs professional help. I'm not equipped to deal with this.

I hear a gulp, a sigh, and a dignified "Hmph!", and Black steps to the side, away from James, and he is no longer shielded from Mina's gaze.

Wait.

He's looking back at her, unfaltering.

Has he miraculously grown balls?

No…it can't be.

Sirius Black with balls is like a mythical creature.

Stories have been told about it, for thousands of years.

But it's rarely seen.

Most people go on their entire lives without seeing it. It is a legend, passed down from generation to generation, like the Loch Ness monster. Or Big Foot. The Yeti.

Alright I think I took the balls joke too far. Even though it's in my head and no one knows how bad it is.

"You know," Black suddenly says slowly, not shifting his eyes away from Mina for a second.

I can't really place his expression.

It's blank.

So is hers.

What's going on here?

James looks perplexed. Well, just as perplexed as I am.

A cute frown forms between his eyebrows. And now that I'm looking at his eyebrows, I think that his eyebrows are very properly shaped.

You know, not like its plucked. Like some of the guys.

Or like one huge caterpillar across his face like Tibilius Wilfrick.

It's quite comforting that he doesn't pluck. And his eyes are really pretty even though they are disguised by his glasses. I've rarely seen him without his glasses.

Though he groped me once, rather…inappropriately during a charms class once because Black levitated them off of his face. Apparently it was an "accident." Sure…the spot on groping of my…ahem…northern regions were totally innocent and unintentional. Black told the whole story several times at dinner until he changed it so much that it evolved into a story of me and James having sex in the middle of charms with the entire class watching.

Psh, like that would ever happe –

FOCUS, LILY! FOCUS!

I've been staring at him all this time.

Look. Away. From. James.

Ohmygod.

He's turned to look at me. The cute frown on his face is gone. Now he's just looking at me. And smiling. My mum would always tell me that if you look at a person for too long, they sense you looking and turn to look at you. Does this mean I stare at Potter too much?

Because I DON'T!

I DON'T!

It's quite strange. I'm staring. He's staring. This _isn't _uncomfortable or alarming. Which in of itself, is alarming.

"Ah, young love," Black sighs happily, "I think it's so – "

"What did I tell you about thinking, Black?" Mina interrupts, her face expression not changing. He continues staring at her, but a small smile playing on his lips. "Don't let your mind wander. It's too small to be let out on its own."

Don't smile, Lily.

Don't smile.

Come on, control yourself.

It wasn't that funny.

My mouth is going to smile! I CAN FEEL IT!

NO! ARGHH!

THINK OF SAD THINGS!

DEAD KITTENS!

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH…..

Oh good, god. I'm going insane.

I can almost feel James suppressing his laugh.

His shoulder is shuddering against mine.

His _laugh._

He has a great laugh.

It makes me want to laugh with him.

If he starts laughing, I don't think I'll be able to control mine.

I'm expecting Black to bite back with a comment very soon.

"I'd advise you not to get on my bad side, Taylor," He says humorously and moves closer to her. "I'm running out of places that I can hide the bodies."

She lets out a small "Hah," a small smirk playing on her lips.

Great comeback, Mina.

Real witty.

What happened to the angry yelling?

"Whats wrong, out of clever insults?" Black prompts smugly, stepping back and settling himself onto the couch. He picks up the Quidditch magazine that Mina threw at him off the floor and begins reading idly.

James looks at me and blinks.

His eyes are so goddamn pretty.

I mean, overall, he is really attractive.

_Really _attractive.

I mean, his hair and –

I can even begin to overlook the fact that he is such a child. I can't quite describe the feeling that I'm experiencing right now.

When he looks at me, I just feel….iffy.

This is just fantastic.

I think I'm actually beginning to find…James Potter…_hot._

Shoot me.

Now.

"We should shag."

Wait…who said that?

Did James say that?

DID HE READ MY THOUGHTS?

BECAUSE I WILL DENY!

DENY, DENY, DENY!

I'M VERY SELECTIVE OF THE REALITY I ACCEPT!

"Excuse me?" I hear a shrill voice pierce the silence.

"I _said_," Black looks up from his magazine, and clears his throat, fixing a sincere and direct stare on her. "When this is over, _you_ and _I, _should have lots of angry sex."

James just choked on his own spit.

Did he just say that to her?

Am I imagining things now?

"I think he's gone crazy. Potter, take him up to his room," Mina, mutters, still staring intently at Black as if he's gone mentally retarded.

Black rolls his eyes at her and turns back to his magazine. "Suit yourself. Just ask around about what you're missing."

Silence.

I hate silences.

It's so uncomfortable.

Scratch that.

It's not uncomfortable.

It's unbearable.

I start talking complete rubbish when it's silent. It's dangerous.

I hate it.

I hate it when the conversation dies out.

And there is nothing to say.

But background noise.

Right now, I hear the flames crackling.

Normally, I wouldn't.

And I'm beginning to notice how annoying it sounds.

_Crackle._

Its so – _crackle _– annoying.

Someone – _crackle _– say – _crackle _– someth – _crackle – _ING!

I can't stand this any longer.

"Lily? Why are you stabbing the fire?"

Good question, James.

Good question.

Because I want the background noise to _die._

_DIE!_

Throwing her hair over her shoulder, Mina says, "I wouldn't."

"You wouldn't what?" Black says distractedly, barely looking at her over his magazine.

"I would never sleep with you."

"Why not?" he asks, still not looking away from his magazine. "I'm good."

He's going to get kicked in the balls.

Shut up, Black.

Shut up.

"You're not my type." She says simply, shrugging and sitting across him in the armchair that he was previously using as a shield to protect himself from her. How times have changed.

He shuts his magazine and looks up at her. "Why not?"

"You're immature." She states, shrugging again. "And to put it nicely, I hope you choke."

Black puts his feet up onto the table and sighs dramatically. "I used to be," he says slowly, waving his hand around as if he's addressing the common room. "I like to think I've grown and matured over the years." He continues, nodding wisely. "Shut up, Prongs," he adds to James, growling and flinging a couple of sickles at him as he pisses himself laughing in the corner.

"Hah! You've grown, my arse!" she snaps at him suddenly, and he jumps in his seat, knocking over several empty glasses with his feet. "A hard-on doesn't count as personal growth, Black."

_Oho._

Don't ever play games with a girl who can play better, Black.


	8. Run For Your Life, Like Right Now

_Hello there! I am so sorry that I havent updated Chocolate in such a long time, but better late then never, right? Right. _

**Remember to review!**

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I hear a strained howl from the corner. It has happened. I knew this day would come.

James Potter has finally lost his marbles.

He bends over, lets out a pained gasp and bursts out laughing. Black looks at his friend rolling around the floor, and his face contorts for about three seconds before he lets out a big barking laugh. Mina's hands are on her hips and she's glaring at Black who has joined James on the floor in blissful merriment.

It's not funny, Lily. Really, it's not worth Mina casting a Bat Bogey hex on you and you obtaining uncontrollable boogers. Don't laugh.

Stop it.

Don't.

Knowing Mina, her curse will probably have evolved, and you'll obtain boogers for hair, too.

Do not laugh.

"LILY!" she snaps at me, her voice at least five octaves higher than normal.

I think I just snorted. That can't be flattering. Oh bloody hell. Cower away, Evans. Cower away.

Cowering, not working.

Sod it!

I don't care if I have wonky bookers that attack me! I WILL LAUGH, DAMN IT! I DON'T WANT TO EXPLODE!

Great.

Now I can't breathe.

Which is interesting, considering my jaw is almost touching the floor.

My brain isn't getting enough oxygen.

Dang it, now I'll never be able to say anything coherent.

I manage to turn my head around and look at the two boys laughing alongside me, tears of hysteria dripping down their red faces. Black looks much like an overgrown tomato. James looks like a _cute_ overgrown tomato.

By the time James, Sirius and I look up from the floor, Mina is nowhere to be seen. _Oh crap. _She's gone upstairs. Which means she is past the point of no return.

"Where's Taylor?" Black asks in a small voice, looking around wildly like a frightened bunny, though he still lets out hiccups of laughter now and then.

"She's gone," I say slowly, to emphasize the scene, for the dramatic effect. Cue in the sharp violins and shrieky homicidal music. Dun Dun duuun…. "Which means that she's past yelling."

"Past…yelling?" Black whispers, looking terrified. "What's past yelling?"

The fire in the fireplace crackles ominously after his question.

"It's the dark side of the moon, mate," James says quietly, his eyes narrowing, as he glances about suspiciously. "It's a place that is _so_ ugly, that if it were a girl, even you wouldn't shag it."

Black looks aghast. "Oh, dear." He puts his head in his hands hopelessly. "We're doomed."

"I know," I whisper, looking around and getting up from the floor, and glancing back at them. "If I die up there," I say, pointing to the girl's staircase behind me, "Please tell my parents I love them."

"Will do," Black quips sympathetically. "Although," he adds in sudden afterthought, "I haven't a clue who your parents are, and I doubt we can reach them, because they're muggles, and I don't really get along with muggles that well – they find me strange – not meaning that I don't like muggles – I love muggles – in fact I once dated this muggle girl, she was quite – "

And he still hasn't stopped talking.

James shoots me an apologetic grin, and it's so adorable that I want to pinch his cheeks.

"Lily – er, why are you ripping my cheek off?" Oh, do you see that? That's my sanity running out the door.

I freeze, my hand still on his face with a large part of his cheek in it. Black is looking at me and him, his mouth still open. I think he was still talking. James is frowning at me, half of his face disfigured by my hand.

Oh, bugger.

Merlin, my hormones are on overdrive.

"Um…I – "

He is smirking at me again! He's fucking smirking! AGH, IT'S THE SEXY, LOPSIDED GRIN!

I must persevere!

…

I am going to die. My heart is going to stop beating because right now it is about to burst through my chest and then die miserably on the floor. Lily, deep breaths. No need to suffocate yourself. Come on…Follow Mina. Preserve what dignity you have left, now.

_Ow. _I just tripped over the common room carpet. Way to go for dignity and all.

That's it. I am _severely_ unhinged.

I hope that I've frightened them enough so they won't follow me. Not that they can, of course, because Godric Gryffindor was a brilliant, brilliant man who didn't trust his own sex.

Oh, I forgot.

Mina is going to _kill_ me.

Suddenly not feeling so happy anymore.

I _really _shouldn't have laughed. Sometimes we know we shouldn't, and that's exactly why we do.

-x-x-x-

"Who the _hell_ does he think he is?" She's stomping around the dorm, every once in a while smashing a couple of things around her. She takes the bedside lamp and hurls it across the room, and it hits the door, breaking into a billion little pieces.

I loved that lamp.

A House-Elf gave it to me. And now I'm too scared to 'Reparo' it until Mina leaves the room.

Damn her and her hormones!

"How does he have the – the nerve to – "

She's waving her wand around blindly, and I'm getting worried that she's going to blow up the entire castle.

"Mina, relax," I say in my best calming voice but she just whips around, her eyes flashing dangerously, gives me the _death_ glare, and then turns away, continuing her non-stop pacing around the room.

" – I mean, who in their _right_ mind would ever think that I would – I would – did he expect me to be thrilled – fl – flattered?"

"I think he just expected to piss you off, really."

She doesn't need to turn around for me to feel the heat radiating of a second death glare she's giving me inside her head.

I roll my eyes at her, but she doesn't see, thankfully. No, I definitely do not want uncontrollable boogers. "Mina," I say slowly, "What exactly did he do?"

She turns around and looks at me disbelievingly. "You don't _know_?" she asks, her voice squeaky and high.

"No," I say patiently. Honestly, it's not like I keep track of everything she does. "James and I came a while after – "

" – 'JAMES AND I?" She shrieks, now taking her bedside clock and chucking it into the window. "What were you doing with him?" she yells, opening her arms wide and staring at me incredulously. I do not appreciate the mockery.

"He's a Marauder! What the hell has happened to you?"

I have to say I _enjoy _the insults.

I have half a mind to cast _Silencio _on her. And leave her blubbering like the frog in Charms.I swear, she is so hormonal, it's like living with a menopausal sixty-year old, sometimes.

She starts pacing again. "Mina, I do realize that he is a Marauder," I say quietly, carefully choosing my words. "You were the one who said I should give him a chance – "

I'm never getting a sentence out without her bellowing at me.

"WELL, THAT WAS BEFORE I SAW WHAT KIND OF SCUM HE HUNG OUT WITH!" Her hair has now completely gone mental, and it's sticking up in odd places, looking strangely electrified. I always knew that curly mass was dangerous. She breathes in and out in rapid succession, and throws herself down onto her bed.

"Are you going to tell me?" I say finally. "_What_ did he do?"

Oh, no. It's the hormones again. Her eyes are watery. I look into them, assuming I will see blood-thirst or anger, but her stare is icy. "He called me a whore."

He always does that.

"He always does – " I start but she cuts me off. Oh come ON! My brain and mouth were going to match this time, and she cut me off!

"No," she shakes her head. "He _meant _it. He _yelled_ at me in front of Sam. And the whole second floor."

Who the hell is Sam?

"Who's Sa – "

She's blushing. Why's she blushing?

"I was – I was with him in a broom cupboard, and – and – " she glances at me and sees my most probably confused expression. I cannot control my face muscles at the moment on account of me being extremely surprised and feeling like I've been hit over the head repeatedly with an overgrown badger.

"I was _goin_g to tell you!" She screeches apologetically. I raise my eyebrow. "He's a Hufflepuff, we've sort of...been..._fooling around _for a week," she takes a deep breath. "Black found us, and then he yelled at me."

"Wait, wait, wait," I put my hand up. I need three seconds to digest this. "_He_ yelled at _you_ for being a _whore._"

She nods.

"Well, I'm glad he can see the irony in the situation."

He's in a broom cupboard EVERY bloody day of the week. I have fished him out of maybe a hundred broom cupboards, myself. He has more detentions for PDA that the whole school. Combined.

"He is practically a man-whore," I deadpan, still outraged. "He is a dirty, low, vile, disgusting, easy slut." I pause. "A fucking harlot." I pause again. "Maybe even a prostitute."

She laughs, but its dull and humorless.

He is a whore of the male specimen. I see him with a different girl every week. He has sex often. And in abundance. Honestly, a girl who has _any_ kind of self respect would not go gallivanting off into broom cupboards with him.

"His catchphrase is 'Hey, sexy, fancy a shag?'," I continue, somewhat hysterical. "And he calls you a whore?"

He is corrupted. Immoral. Whorish. Oh, I should have killed him.

She nods again. "That's why he was talking about how _we_ were similar. Apparantly, I dress too openly, and I'm too flirtatious, and – and – ," she growls. "According to him, it's sexy."

"'Come here to me,' kind of sexy?" I question, alarmed.

"Yeah."

My jaw is basically on the floor. Oh I am going to beat up that scum bag. So badly. Madam Pompoms won't even find the pieces to put him back together. I should turn him into a goat. My transfiguration isn't that great. I'm sure James would help me if I asked nicely. He would definitely help me, because even though Black is his best mate, he's aware that he's a man-whore. Hell, McGonagall would help me if I told her I needed assistance to torture Black on account of him being a slut. I think she's as tired as anyone of finding him shagging in broom cupboards.

She'd probably give me a spell to turn him into a urinal or something. Or a condom. That would be some poetic justice right there.

Mina may be hormonal and angry and occasionally she may yell at me, but she is my best friend. If he breaks her heart, I'll break his face. He is going to be a giant goat when I'm through with him. A giant goat without a wiener so he'll leave female goats alone.

I run to her side, and give her a warm hug, and she returns it. "Can you imagine," she whispers, her voice still stony, "He still had the nerve to _ask me out_ after all of that. After yelling at me for half an hour, he told me to go out with him."

I nod. "I'm just happy you point-blank refused. He doesn't _do_ dating, from what I've heard from Potter."

"Yeah, because _that's _why I refused. Because we couldn't have a long-lasting relationship with many children and a swing-set in our backyard." She pauses, and smiles at me, sympathetically. "You thought I was insane, right? Downstairs?"

Well, truth be told, she _did_ look slightly mental. But she doesn't have to know that. That's what friends do. Friends lie to make each other feel better. The first rule of best-friend-making.

"Of course not!" I say indignantly, because I am offended. "I – I – " Her eyebrows ascend further on her forehead. "I was absolutely sure that you had a perfectly logical reason for turning the common room into a war-zone. I was positive. Very sure."

She rolls her eyes at me and begins giggling. "Sorry I yelled at you," she says quietly. "You know – before."

"It's alright. You were distraught."

"I _might_ kill him," she says matter-of-factly, cracking her knuckles.

"I _might _help you."

At least I would be able to leave one Transfıgurations class without a loud, ear-splitting voice singing _Small Part of the World_ at Mcgonagall in an attempt to "win her over."

-x-x-x-

How can boys be so incredibly stupid?

Scratch that, not stupid. Calling them stupid would be an insult to sincerely stupid people.

They are moronic, arse-faced, so incredibly thick that an armor piercing bullet cannot pierce their thick skulls.

And by this, I'm not meaning to insult boys who actually have a shard of a brain.

But stupid boys are everywhere.

It's like an epidemic. Pandemic. Whatever-emic.

Of course, there are boys who are remotely intelligent. Like my dad. Or like Remus, who I've gotten used to, and _partially_ forgiven for the whole "You made me kiss Potter, you dickwad," debacle.

Not completely.

I still will avenge myself when the opportunity presents itself.

I'll do it today.

Maybe tomorrow.

Next week.

Why put it off until tomorrow, when it's something you can completely avoid altogether?

I'm referring to the moronic man whores like Black. Who, coincidentally, happens to be sitting three seats away from me, and seems to be completely unaware that Mina and I can hear every _single_ word he says.

"James, why is your delicious head-girl ignoring me?" Black asks, without glancing at me, stuffing bread and jam down his throat while his other hand is sloshing butter onto another piece of bread. Multitasking. Hmph.

James rolls his eyes at him and continues drinking his pumpkin juice. Remus doesn't even bother looking up from his book and answers, "Padfoot, if you would care to stop drowning yourself in your food, you would notice that her friend is also ignoring you. Any idea why?"

Black stuffs another huge loaf of bread into his mouth, and downs a huge glass of pumpkin juice. Once he's done gobbling, he mutters, "Nope. No clue."

Remus and Peter grab a slice of toast before Black eats the whole bloody table. "Are you completely sure?"

"Yes," says Black, and splatters the whole table with bread crumbs.

James cringes visibly, and throws a napkin at Black's face. "Paddy, do I have to make sure you don't eat the table cloth?" Black glares at him through his bread-crumb-covered face.

Remus sighs, and says calmly, "So it has nothing to do with you yelling at her in front of the entire Hufflepuff house as well as half of Gryffindor?"

Black shrugs, "I can't imagine why she would ever ignore me, for that."

Pettigrew pipes up, "Maybe she's angry because you embarrassed her."

"Brilliant," Remus congratulates, "Ten points for Wormtail." Turning to Black, he says, "You are seriously the most tragically ignorant person to ever walk this planet, Padfoot."

"Ha – "

"And if you dare make a pun out of your name, so help me God, I will strangle you with this bagel."

Black throws off his glare easily. "You can't strangle me with a bagel!"

"You sure about that?" Remus challenges, waving the bagel in his hand back and forth ominously in his field of vision like a metronome.

Hypnotized now, Black follows Remus's hand. "Yes."

"You care to put your life on the line for it?"

"…No…"

I hear an exasperated growl from my right, as Mina flings her spoon at her plate and gets up to leave. Without as much as giving a glance at Black on her way out, she stomps out the great hall.

"Where is she going?"

"She wants to breed llamas," Blacks says simply, before curtly choking on his bacon.

**-x-x-x-**

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_**Johnnydicaprio xx **_


	9. A Lamentable Incident

**- Chapter IX - **_  
A Lamentable Incident  
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"I order you to call off your steely men! At once!"

"Sirius, relax."

"No! You cannot take me without a fight, sir!"

"Padfoot I – "

"Prepare for battle!" the retard bellows, standing up and knocking his chair over. "Angaaard!" He lunges himself forward at the chess set, and slams his bishop onto the table. "Fight you lazy scoundrels, fight!"

Potter leans back in his chair, eyes wide and his eyebrows threatening to disappear into his hair. Remus is sitting by the fire, a small book in his lap, watching his friends in amusement. "The gods themselves do tremble," he says dully, glancing at Black. He returns to his book, seemingly uninterested.

"Silence!" Black bellows, lashing a finger out towards Remus. "I must concentrate! Smite them!" Black yells again, shaking his fist with a manly air. "Kill the enemy! _Kill! Kill them __**all**__!_"

"Prongs," Remus scolds out of the corner of his mouth, wincing as he shuts his book, the spectacle becoming too much to ignore. "What did I tell you about playing chess with Sirius?"

"That is was bad?" Potter suggests in a small voice, glancing at Remus while dodging the pawn that Black flings at him.

"Yes." Remus sighs, somewhat exasperatedly. "And?"

Potter ducks again with surprising agility as a bishop comes hurtling towards his face, and blurts, "And that it awakens old memories of his family and makes him act like a homicidal 16th century English knight?"

"Yes," Remus mutters, eyes shifting towards Black. "That."

"Oh. My bad."

Meanwhile, Black is continuing his outbursts of "Die!" and "Kill!"

"Padfoot – "

"Make your move!" Black commands, his eyes mad, brandishing his wand threateningly in Potter's face. The chess pieces seem to be reacting naturally though, the game is as brutal as it ever was. Suddenly, a pawn knocks out Black's bishop, sending it hurling over the table and into the carpet.

A second of silence passes between the three, during which Remus and Potter eye Black worriedly, as if expecting him to start foaming at the mouth, while Black stares blankly into space.

Silence. Then –

"NOOOOOOOOOO!!!" he bellows, throwing himself into the carpet after the broken bishop. "My soldier! My warrior!" He scoops the pieces up, kisses them, and stuffs them beneath the carpet. "I shall avenge you," he whispers vehemently, his hand over his chest. "May you rest in peace, my friend."

"Sirius, let's just - " Remus begins but Black begins shaking his hair like a mad man.

"NO!" he screams again. "You cannot stop me with your enchanting words! As god as my witness, I shall have my victory!"

"Prongs, get his wand away from him," Remus mutters, eyeing Black cautiously as he waves it around. "Now." Just then, Black bellows a war cry and lunges himself at Potter, who dodges and twists his arm, grabbing his wand in the process. He turns around to hand the wand to Remus.

"You coward! Face me like a man! Do not turn your back on me, sir!"

"Oh shut – "

However, Potter's sentence is interrupted rather abruptly, as Black throws himself onto his back, and effectively mounts him, all the while clobbering him over the head with his fist.

"Fuck – ow – what the hell - CHRIST PADFOOT GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME – OW!"

"YOU – KILLED – MY – COMRADE! YOU – SLIMY – DOG!"

Potter begins running around with Black latched onto his back, as Remus watches on, half-amused, half-concerned for his friend's well-being. "Padfoot," he scolds finally, somewhat half-heartedly, "Do dismount Prongs."

"HE – KILLED – MY – FRIEND!"

Clobber, clobber, clobber.

"OW – FUCK – CHESS PIECES AREN'T YOUR FRIENDS YOU DERANGED LUNATIC!"

Clobber, clobber, clobber.

Remus nods sympathetically, idly watching the Potter-Black escapades. "Yes, I do know it must be a terrible time for you, however you must dismount."

"NO!"

Clobber, clobber, clobber.

Remus sighs, folding up his sleeves patiently as Potter runs wild circles around him with Black attached to his back. Shouts of "GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME" are muffled as Black has now stuffed his fists into Potter's mouth and is steering him like a horse.

"Alright then."

With one flick of his wand, Remus throws Black off Potter's shoulders, who collapses into a heap of exhaustion on the floor and begins whimpering for his mummy. Black recoils, however is soon on his feet again, this time lunging at Remus. Ready for him this time, Remus grabs him by the shoulders and gives him a wild shake, Black's flappy hair bouncing around his head, his spit violently flying out of his mouth as he growls in agitation at being restrained.

"SNAP OUT OF IT!" Remus bellows into this face, continuing to shake him.

Soon enough, Remus lets him go, and breathing heavily, Black's expression softens, and then turns blank. He wobbles a little in his place, and then steps forward. "I did it again, didn't I" He whispers, genuinely terrified, sinking into the nearby couch. "How much damage did I do?"

Remus nods gravely, jerking his head towards Potter whose still crumpled on the floor. "You really should get that identity thing checked out, Padfoot."

"I killed him, didn't I?" Black mutters angrily, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Great."

"I'm not dead you fucking loon," Potter's voice floats in, muffled into the carpet. "You were bloody close though."

"My bad, mate," Black says, standing and helping Potter to his feet, who still looks a bit ruffled. Black looks him up and down and says, "You look a little tattered, don't you?"

Potter's glare looks like it could sear through the wall. "Yeah. Maybe because you rode piggy-back on me for an hour."

Are you wondering why I'm standing by watching all of this?

I'm bloody bored, that's why.

I have to wait around for stupid Potter to get his kumbayaya's out so that we can go on head patrol.

Mina's been upstairs for the past hour and a half. She's probably busy making vodoo dolls to poke Black to death. I'm rather inclined to go upstairs and join her and make miniature Potters to impale.

This is a rather peculiar phenomenon that I'm experiencing. A minute ago, Black was trying to kill James. And now they're laughing together. Boys are strange, it must be said.

Potter breaks from a hug with Black, and begins walking over to me, rubbing his shoulder in the process. Oh, so he's finally noticed I'm here, has he?

"Sorry for making you wait, Lily," he apologizes with a grin, looking back over his shoulder at Black. "I was rather preoccupied, as you could probably see."

It's that stomach-clenching grin, spread across that annoyingly handsome face. So gorgeous my brain might just melt into unintelligible mulch –

"That's alrig – "

NO! SHUT UP! IT'S NOT ALRIGHT!

I refuse to fall victim to his devilish charms! Not after seven years of denying, and resisting, and pummeling!

No.

He's looking at me with his head tilted to one side, clearly confused that I just stopped saying what I was about to say.

I think I'll leave him in that vegetative state for a while.

I want to snigger and cackle, but that'll give away too much.

Instead, I rise to my feet swiftly and elegantly, narrowly stopping myself form tripping over my bag, and walk to the portrait hole without another glance at him.

Ha.

Ha, ha, ha. I feel evil.

"Have fun, m'lady!" I hear Black bellow at me as the portrait slams shut.

I'm not even going to bother to check if Potter's following me, I can hear him caring. He checks behind statue for any late night stragglers as I open the door of an empty broom cupboard. He then begins talking again, without invitation, mind you, going on and on about the Quidditch final. I snap after about eight hours of it, finally. "Okay," I grunt exasperatedly, bending over and checking behind the door of an open classroom, "Maybe the rounds should be a _silent _activity from now on," I suggest acidly, glaring at him.

"What does that mean?"

"It means you're annoying, that's what," I idly peep behind a suit of armor, watching his reflection in the steel wraps.

I hear him gasp, and his deformed reflection puts his hand to his mouth, looking deeply offended. "Are you saying we should annoy other people?"

I bang my head against the steel. Maybe if I do it hard enough I'll pass out and won't have to spend another evening in his stupid company.

I turn around, my hands on my hips, prepared to rail at him for being so unbelievably thick. Instead of exploding into nothing like I'm willing him to, he grins, walks towards me, trips over his own feet, and hurtles into my chest, knocking me backwards into the marble staircase, following suit as he tumbles down with me.

You've got to give it to the guy. I'm sure it takes great skill to trip over flat surfaces.

Oh bloody hell. We are rolling down the staircase. The staircase. There is inappropriate _touching_ of certain parts, not to mention the constant head banging.

_Ow. _

We are still rolling. How long is this bloody thing?

_Oh, Christ. _Potter's elbow just collided with my chest. PAIN. PAIN. Not to mention his elbow felt me up, which is just perfection.

I think we stopped moving. I can't tell on account of the fact that I'm not sure my head is, exactly. It might have kept rolling to Spain, for all I know. I shift my eyes, and see Potter lying spread-eagled merely feet from me, groaning and moaning as if all this isn't his stupid fault anyway.

Him and his stupid giant feet.

"Lil – Lily?" he says groggily, hoisting himself up on his elbows and shuffling towards me like they do in the military.

I open my mouth but all that comes out is a loud whimper. Oh, heavens. I've lost the ability to talk.

"Lily?" he says, more strongly this time. He grabs the side of the staircase and pulls himself up. Now he's looking down at me in his six-foot glory.

His face goes in and out of focus for a while, and I'm barely stopping myself from rolling to my side and retching my guts out.

"Are you alright?"

Oh, yes. I'm dandy. Having just fallen down seven thousand flights of marble, I'm quite fit to do the cancan. Bring on the frilly dresses and step aside, ladies and gentlemen!

He reaches out his hand to pull me up, but I don't think I'll be able to move from this spot for a very, very, _very _long time.

"Potter – stupid – can't get up – " I manage to wheeze out in between breaths.

"Do you want me to….carry you?"

Oh, my god. Hand on waist. HAND ON WAIST! SLAP IT AWAY – DO IT!

He picks me up effortlessly, and carries me to a nearby wooden bench, setting me down and pushing my hair out of my face. "Are you feeling better?"

Marginally.

And it has nothing to do with his warm hand currently resting on my thigh.

He kneels in front of me, and suddenly I get the image of him proposing, my head flashing forward in time wildly into a white house with a swing set in the backyard and a small dark haired, green eyed baby in my hand –

ARGH! I wouldn't have a baby with Potter even if he was the last man on earth! My brain has been affected from the fall! I'M GOING TO SUE HIM FOR ALL HE'S WORTH!

I think I just popped a brain vessel.

I jump up, narrowly missing banging my head onto a nearby torch, and begin walking away briskly. It takes some time for my body to adjust to the horizontal plane, and though I stumble a couple of times, the fall seems to have not done permanent damage to my brain. Good for Potter, as now he does not _have _to die painfully at my hands. It is now merely an elective choice.

Potter, again looks confused – unsurprising, of course - and follows suit.

"Look," He begins lamely, rolling back and forth on the balls of his feet, his arms joined behind his back as he struts after me. "Sorry about that. How are you feeling?"

"Very impressive how you were able to trip over yourself, Potter," I grit my teeth, ignoring his question as we turn a corner leading towards the Transfiguration classroom.

"Hey – look," he touches my arm and turns me around, "Do you want to call it a night?"

"Why would I want to do that?" I ask pointedly, leaning away from him.

"Well - " he swallows, gesticulating at me wildly, "You look kind of tattered."

"No, I'm alright," I reassure him. And completely ignore the fact that him worrying about me is slightly cute.

"Lily." He scolds quietly, rolling his eyes.

"Potter." I retort back, meeting his gaze. "I'm fine."

I begin to walk away, but I don't get very far. He catches up and grabs my forearm, turning me around with ease again. "Are you?"

I feel my eyes narrow suspiciously. "Why are you being so nice?" I inquire acidly, "Are you in on some kind of bet?"

"What?" he retorts defensively, his ever-present smile disappearing. "I can't be nice?"

"I – "

He sighs sadly, his chin falling to his chest. "It's wonderful to know you think so little of me."

"Well," I rub my eyes tiredly with the heels of my hands, smiling sourly. "It's either that, or accept that you've done something nice, and then I have to deal with the horsemen and the reign of fire and the end of days, and that's just a whole lot of bother I don't feel like dealing with."

He chuckles, but it's a humorless sound. "Alright, at this point, I would say you're _abusing _sarcasm. I happen to be a perfectly nice individual, and on occasion, I do happen to help people, so it wouldn't kill you to accept it when the chance comes around."

"Actually, it might."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

I sigh, preparing to explain as my hand grasps around the doorknob of the broom cupboard we are in front of. "Alright," I smack my lips, "Look – the last time I accepted something from a Marauder, it was in the form of chocolate, and thanks to him I ended up making out with you in front of everyone I know, so do forgive me if I am not extremely eager to drop my guard around you and your possy."

He's gaping.

"That answer your question?" I use the time interval while he's gathering his thoughts to open the door of the cupboard.

"LIGHT! BAD!"

What the –

"Don't you know how to knock, Evans?"

Potter, seemingly out of is reverie, peeks over the side of the door. "Wha – "

My throat is in knots. "Oh, my god…"

"I'M BLIND!" Potter declares over my shoulder, slapping his hand over his eyes and collapsing onto the floor in a pitiful heap of manliness.

"Wha – Hah…who…wh –" The connection between my brain and mouth have been severed. There is absolute silence for a few seconds, before the most unlikely candidate to be in a broom cupboard (!) steps out of the shadows and into the soft yellow light of the torches lining the walls of the castle.

"Hello there, my little cherubs!" Black shouts flamboyantly, his grin bright and bubbly. He observes the both of us idly, as we are unable to form coherent sentences. He then smiles sadly, claps Potter on the shoulder, and warmly advises, "Next time, knock, m'kay? Toodles!"

Sliding easily back into darkness, he reaches out a hand to shut the door.

"Get the hell off me, Black," the girl in the shadows snaps. I can hear a bit of a struggle as they untangle themselves in the tiny space. Black groans frustratedly, but obliges.

Wait a second. I think know that voice. Though I'm probably hallucinating. Because making out with Black in a broom cupboard in the middle of the night is possibly the last thing she would do along with touching Snape or sleeping with Wormtail…

"Lily? Hello?"

"Jamsie, your bird's gone catatonic again."

"Padfoot!" I hear Potter's shrill shriek piercing through my daze, as I awaken to see him pointing an accusing finger at his friend. "What are you – what – how…what?!"

Black knocks over stacks of brooms out of the door and they roll away, scattering across the hall. He eventually emerges after them, dryly stating, "We talked about this – remember what I told you about birds and bees, Prongs? Well right now, the mama bird and the papa bee are …"

My eyes are bulging way out of control, and I no longer hear what he is saying. Potter is peeking at me through his fingers as though I may explode. On the other hand, my best friend just stepped out of a broom cupboard with her mortal enemy, so cut me some slack.

"M…Mina? Oh, I'm going to be sick."

I am torn between violently overreacting, and not reacting at all.

Black smirks at me, a giddy giggle escaping his lips. "Indeed, it is she," he quips, as his eyes drift down Mina's face and towards her….Oh, god. Boys should have their eyes sporked out.

Glaring daggers, Mina slaps him across the head. "FOCUS! Now is not the time to be staring at my arse!"

"You're completely off your bird," Black responds lazily, shaking his head and crossing his arms over his chest. "I – I wasn't staring at your arse," he laughs, a short, nervous laugh, "I was – erm – I was admiring your jean pockets. Yes," he nods vehemently, seemingly satisfied with the excuse, "They are quite lovely – is that gold embroidery?"

"Smooth, Padfoot."

Mina quirks her eyebrow at Black, not at all amused or impressed. "Shut up," she drawls, "Just because you are remotely attractive does not give you the right to yammer away endlessly."

I'm about to cut in with my zillion questions, mainly what, how, why and WHAT, but Black, who has obviously missed the entire point of what she has just said, pipes up hopefully. "So you think I'm hot? Irresistible? A total babe?"

She merely rolls her eyes, but I can see her hiding a smile. "Luke warm. Just above room temperature."

Black's grin stretches across his face as he throws his arm around her shoulders. "And he is right again, Ladies and Gentlemen!" He declares joyously, "I always knew you had a thing for me. It was just inevitable. All that fighting and book chucking. You just wanted to get in my pants. I should feel used, but I don't."

Mina raises a delicate eyebrow. "Do you ever shut up? I wait, and I wait, and I wait, but it just never happens."

"Was that a rhetorical question?" Potter peeks his head out from behind me and asks, his tone slightly pained. "Because I can definitely answer it."

"Shut up, Prongs. Mama Bird and Papa Bee are talking. Go play in your room."

While Potter and his lover are bickering, Mina manages to catch my eye. I'm not sure what I see more of in her face – embarrassment, regret, satisfaction or just pure self-loathing.

"So," she shifts uncomfortably, her hands first in front of her, then crossed across her chest, then behind her, and then in her hair in exasperation. "So what exactly did you see, Lily?"

"More importantly, what did you think of my performance?" Black cuts in, smiling and inane smile that disappears following a particularly large punch to his shoulder.

Potter's face distorts to the point of unrecognition as he cringes, a visible shiver passing through his body. "Hands…tongues…yours…hers…" he hacks loudly, the sound that comes out of him something between a terrified yelp and a scream. "IT WAS HORRIBLE!"

"You were," I gulp, "You were like Siamese twins joined at the tongue." What a great first sentence to come out of my mouth in the last ten minutes.

While Mina has the decency to look embarrassed, Black, obviously, lacks such a quality. He laughs heartily at our face expressions, and leaning against the wall, puts up his hands in defense. "Hey, it really wasn't my idea, love," he says defensively, "Your friend here threw herself at me and demanded I satisfy her. What's a bloke to do, I ask you?"

"Excuse me?" Mina shrieks, the sound sharp cutting like a blade. "Which planet were you on? I did not _throw _myself at you! Newsflash, moron; you were on me!"

Black scoffs easily, "Oh, please. You were asking for it."

"Who jumped on who?" Mina demands angrily, poking him in the chest. "Who made the first move? Hm?"

He scoffs again, but this time, it's a panicked sound. "Hah! Well, I…you…You pulled me! And I was…drunk…firewhiskey…so…my center of gravity – balance was off! And you were sending me begging signals! HA!" He is so triumphant when he finishes that sentence, you'd think he'd won an award of some kind.

"Oh, please," Mina spits out, almost shouting. "Hey," she demands, looking in turns at me and Potter, "Alright, anyone here think that I would send Black begging signals? Please," she prompts kindly, "Show of hands."

Unsurprising, that Potter and my hands stay put, while Black's hand shoots into the air. "Hey!" he barks angrily, his sentiments directed mainly at Potter, "I'm your best mate! You gonna belive me, or some _girl_?!"

"I refuse to star in your psychodrama," Potter remarks easily, grimacing.

"Some girl?" Mina echoes, her voice worryingly soft. "_Some _girl?" There it is. She's screaming now. "You weren't calling me that when we were in there!"

Disturbingly disturbing images in my head. A lot of them. Brilliant. Oh, poor, poor brooms. They need therapy, I'm sure. Sadly, broom therapy does not exist. Maybe I should just burn the lot of them and save them the trouble of being emotionally retarded for the rest of their lives.

Losing his trail of perfect conversational eloquence, Black begins spluttering wildly. "Oh, come on pet, don't be like that – I mean – I was just – you know, it's boy talk – I – "

He reaches out to her shoulder, but her glare freezes him in his tracks. "Did I mention the kick in the groin you'll be receiving if you touch me?"

With sudden, and in my personal, humble opinion, bloody untimely bravery, he reaches out and grabs her shoulder. "Look, Taylor, I – "

"No kids, Black," she whispers, her tone almost tangibly scorching his hand off of her shoulder. "Touch me again, and _no kids._"

Suddenly looking nauseous, Black clutches at his head, groaning in agony, doubling over. "Aghh, my head," he moans, grunting and whining. "I think I'm sobering up. It's horrible. Ah…God…I wish I was dead…"

Mina exhales loudly out of her nose. "Well, she grumbles, still glaring at him, clearly her homicidal tendencies fighting a tough battle to win her over, "If you close your eyes and wish real hard…"

She continues glowering at Black, ignoring his spluttered apologies, while I get distracted by Potter dropping to the floor and fake-vomiting.

"Oh, suck it up you ninny!" Black finally snaps, turning around and breaking painful eye-contact with Mina. "You know, if you _got some _once in a while, maybe you'd be more accepting of my conquests instead of acting like a bloody three year-old!"

Oh. Oh, oh, oh.

Oh, no.

This is so very bad.

So very, _very, _bad.

Behind Black, Mina's mouth visibly drops open. I cringe, because I know what's coming.

"Your _conquests?_" She snarls, enunciating the last word. Her eyes are maniacal with something reminiscent of intense blood-thirst. "You make me sick!" Her yell hangs in the air as she turns around aggressively, a swirl of murderous wind following her action, as she storms away back down the hallway and up towards the Gryffindor Tower.

Black immediately breaks from the conversation and bursts into a run after her, screaming apologies, chased away by Potter's incredibly loud laughter.

I quirk my eyebrow at him accusingly, but he doesn't seem fazed.

"What?" he demands defensively, pausing to look at me, still clutching his stomach in painful laughter. "What kind of friend would I be if I didn't derive joy from his misery?"

* * *

**_Review? Look! Blue button! Lalalalala…_**


	10. Snot Dancing Flamingos

**Chapter X: Snot Dancing Flamingos**

* * *

"But love – "

"NO! Don't call me love! And get off me!"

"Come on now, don't be like that – "

"Stop talking!"

Potter has surprisingly large arms. I'm nearly suffocating between him and Remus, and Peter on the other side. But, what can I say? The show in front of is particularly amusing. In the sense that it's actually not.

"It's interesting," Potter comments with idle interest, leaning into my ear. "He's never been into a girl for much longer than an hour."

"_Don't touch me!"_

"He's never been interested in a girl for much longer than a shower," Remus joins in, leaning in too, his fist bunched under his chin and his lips pursed in thought. "And he's apologizing. After all these years, Padfoot still surprises me."

"_Listen, let me explain – "_

"You guys have any food?" They are all so calm, you'd think their best friend so wasn't dangerously close to being castrated. Even Remus isn't all that bothered, who doesn't so much roll his eyes at Peter's question.

"_Okay, explain! Please, I'm all fucking ears!"_

"Wow, okay I – er – I didn't actually expect you to listen. I just thought you'd yell and I'd try to get a word in."

"_Black – "_

"Okay – I just – well, I got _off _with you and – "

"So I _am _just another one of your conquests!"

Her voice has gone so shrill I'm surprised it's still within the human ear's hearing range. She stares, chest heaving at Black, who's so pathetic looking right now I feel sort of sorry for him. A pillow goes flying towards his head (her ammunation's gotten softer – I suppose it has something to do with all the snogging), and he cranes his neck, easily dodging it and continues walking toward her as she backs away.

"Look, I didn't mean that – " Black stammers, "I just – it's just –"

"You what_?_" She practically bellows, sending spit flying everywhere. "You _what, _exactly? Pray tell _exactly _what you meant!"

"It's just a _word, _love." He sighs, grimacing tightly. "I didn't mean – y'know – I – I mean, you're not, y'know – " He attempts to complete his sentence with wild gesticulation of his limbs, and still fails miserably and sort of stands there looking like a demented octopus.

Her eyes follow the maddening movements of his hands until –

"Stop."

She suddenly deflates, and it's like watching a balloon pop. "Just stop. Please." She flops down onto the couch right adjacent to the one we've all managed to squish into. We, of course, move back several inches instinctively to avoid all possible bodily harm she may inflict on mere innocent bystanders such as ourselves.

"Let's just forget it ever happened," she blurts, pinching the bridge of her nose. "A moment's lapse in my fucking judgment, alright?"

A beat. Something shines behind Black's eyes that I can't put a finger on before his expression turns stone cold. "Okay. Fine."

"Fine," she repeats.

"Fine."

"FINE."

After a moment's pause, they both stalk off towards their respective dormitories.

"Bloody hell," Remus breathes, staring at the door Black's just slammed behind himself, "Guys, I think she hurt his feelings."

"Blimey," James agrees. I do my part by gaping dumbly. Peter does his part by offering us all chocolate.

-x-x-x-

I'm in what one might very well call a predicament.

"Miiina?"

"Ffnghfhgfd."

This is how we communicate now.

"Mina?" I repeat, louder this time, shoving her shoulder a little. Immediately her arm comes flying out of nowhere and collides swiftly with my face. Merlin, she's even violent in her sleep. She rolls to her side, and smacks her lips for a while, smiling contentedly. She's enjoying this, and she's not even awake.

Why can't my friends be normal, at the very least when they're unconscious?

I've got to say, she looks very odd in the morning with her hair flopping everywhere. Much like a startled earwig in jammies. Hm. It appears that my thoughts have progressed to become even more incoherent.

Well. Brilliant.

I pull out a mangled flamingo from underneath my butt. Yes, a flamingo. She's practically draped in them. Yes, as in plural flamingos.

Honestly, how many stuffed flamingos can one person actually collect?

I begin to fear for my life. I haven't exactly recovered from the mental trauma I received that time I woke her up by tapping her on the shoulder and she hexed me to the other side of the room with tentacles coming out of my ears. She claimed she thought I was a burglar trying to strangle her.

Sometimes I still have nightmares.

"ARSEHOLE!" she suddenly yells, waving her arms about and rolling over violently. I duck and cover, naturally, using the flamingos as shields. I peek from beneath her duvet, and yes, she's still sleeping. Oh, also – have I forgotten to mention? She sleepwalks. And talks. And hits. And does about everything she does when she's awake.

…Why am I friends with these people?

Oh, and, she snores. Not all the time, but it's still an occurrence. I wonder what 'Sex God' Black would do if he found out his love-eeely snored. It's like comedy snoring except I'm not laughing.

I should tell James so his stupid gossiping mouth can spread it all around the castle and I can have my tentacly revenge on Mina.

Uh. I mean, I should tell Potter.

Potter.

Not James.

Yes.

No Potter. No, to Potter. I am a free lady. And shall forever stay that way. A firm 'No' to tying myself down. Never, and also NO. Yes. No. Wait. No. Yes. Precisely. That woman, Emily Planktonwhatsits chained herself to a policeman and chucked herself under a horse and so on so that I could vote. I must not let her down.

Although it does seem slightly loony to chuck yourself in front of a horse so that you get to vote.

Especially as, if I recall correctly, she was dead, so she couldn't vote anyway.

Neither can I.

Oh, the unfairness of this world.

On the other foot, Mina is still sleeping. I hear the beginnings of an incoming snore-fest. She must be stopped. Snore-fest must be averted at all costs. I must take one for the team. I must risk being physically mauled in order to save my hearing from being mauled.

Though I suppose my body and my hearing are all on the same team.

Whatever.

"MINA!" I bellow straight into her ear, then barricade myself with the duvet, taking several scooches back on the bed so that I am out of her immediate arms-length. My head collides with the head-board… _foot-board_ at the end of the bed. That's nice.

Still not awake. Not even a grunt.

I could honestly traipse in here with a marching band, giant balloons, shooting cannons into the air, and she still would be sleeping. I could throw a giant penguin at her, and she'd still happy doze on.

That would be weird, though.

Maybe I should just put a pillow over her head and put myself out of my misery.

Okay, I just considered murdering my best friend. I've got to wake her before I do something stupid.

Besides, if I killed her, I'd be all alone in the world. No one to share my idiotic ramblings with. Except her bloody flamingoes, and they're not particularly good company.

Alright, that was slightly strange. I just had Potter's voice in my head. His stupid voice, in my stupid head. His voice said, "Ah, I'd keep you company, Lily." And then it proceeded to do a rude eyebrow wiggle, which makes me think he's not thinking of the kind of company that I'm thinking of.

Also, how voices can do the eyebrow-wiggle is beyond me.

He's even rude when I make him up in my head. That is very rude. To come gallivanting into my head, uninvited and making me think of rude things. Rude, indeed. Rudey-dudey in absentia, as we say in Latin.

I wish my brain had an off switch.

I was under the impression that my head, at least, was a Potter-the-toerag-free zone. Now I have his stupid voice in my head. Damn those immigrants.

I need to get out more. Seriously.

Mina suddenly grabs something off her nightstand – no wait, it's a hairbrush – and flings it at me. If I hadn't used my extremely well toned – ahem – reflexes, I could have been quite badly injured by that hairbrush. Then again, she could have grabbed the lamp instead, and then I'd be in real trouble.

I look at her still sleeping form, oblivious to all that I am doing to wake her, and I feel my marbles rolling away from me. I can feel sense physically leaving my brain cells. Merlin help me I am so close to spazzing out and smothering her with her stuffed flamingos.

But I don't. Because suddenly, a genius idea pops into my genius brain.

"FIRE!"

I'm shouting, grabbing a handful of her flamingos and flinging them at her face. "FIRE, MINA, FIRE! THERE'S A FIRE! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE! GET OUT OF THE BUILDING!"

Her eyes flutter. "Hgfhnh?"

I shoot up from the bed and start running around like a mad cow now. "FIRE!" I repeat, waving my arms around. "FIRE, FIRE! IT BURNS, OH IT BURNS!"

"Oh," she says, or something that vaguely sounds like it. Obviously she's not grasping the gravity and seriousness of the situation of a faux-fire. She's conscious for less than a second before she slumps back into her pillow like a dead fish, and the room fills with a fantastic snore.

Classic.

I groan, and in the process of raising my eyes to the heavens to question whatever higher power may exist on why they sent me such an utterly batshit best friend, my eye hesitates on the mirror and I catch a glimpse of my reflection.

Why is my hair sticking up like a cockerel?

0 for 2, God.

0 for bloody 2.

_-x-x-x-_

_Chomp._

I must have toast to calm down and stop myself from looking at everyone and demanding an answer as to why they are staring weirdly at my hair.

Which I'm quite sure they are.

I'm having a bad hair day. No, no, no, that is the understatements of all understatements. I'm having a _catastrophic _hair day. A war is being waged on the top of my head. Cannons are exploding, bodies are falling to the ground, blood is splashing around – which is funny, if you're into irony. Red hair, blood. Ha-bloody-ha-ha.

I had to practically give myself a magic face-lift in the morning. After I caught sight of my terrible hair, of course, something had to be done. I fixed everything up, except my nose, which has taken on smushing across my entire face through the night as I slept facedown. It's flat like a plate, all across my head. I'm disguising it with a very inconspicuous hat.

Thank heavens it's Saturday. I only have to pretend to be normal for an hour at breakfast and then I can retreat into my bed and never leave.

Tessa is across from me, munching away at her bacon and humming a god-awful Cauldron's song under her breath. My eyes drift over to the other side of the table, noticing Potter, Black, Peter and Remus eating away at their breakfast merrily. Everyone is merry but me. I started the day by getting attacked by a sleeping maniac.

"Spedoinkel!" Black murmurs, astonished, staring at the enormous bubble-gum bubble he's blowing two inches from his face.

Peter's mouth is large with awe. "It's so…huge…"

Potter cracks into a giggle he suppresses against his fist, no doubt at some vulgar thought. Remus looks on with an unaffected expression, choosing to continue spreading butter on his toast instead.

I'm willing for the bubble to explode in his face. It would be terribly amusing. Perhaps I can focus and make it explode. I saw some bloke on the telly with a shiny shirt saying that we could all tap into our clairvoyant side if we just concentrated.

Alright. Here I go.

I'm tapping.

I'm tapping.

Brilliant. I'm crosseyed, now. Thank you, old geezer on TV. I knew he was lying with all that clairvoyant pish po –

Ah.

_This_, god chooses to give me.

Black's gum explodes all over his nose, earning laughter from the surrounding students and a surprised yelp and fall from Peter, bringing down half the breakfast setting along with. I must admit this is quite amusing. The idiot now has a big blob of pinky goo hanging off his nose like a huge bogey and Peter is stuck underneath the table with jam in his hair.

Black prods the gum experimentally with his wand as Potter doubles over in laughter. "Look how it dangles about," he muses, sounding genuinely impressed. "I bet I can swing round and round in time to some music. Like snot disco."

"You lot!" He jabs a finger violently at his friends, "Sing something jolly, and I'll improvise on my bogey work."

"Move _over._"

Oh no. The Beast has arrived.

Mina plops herself down next to me, unleashing a long-suffering sigh and dropping her head into her hands. I didn't even notice her entering the hall. The bogey show must have been quite distracting. "Toast," she orders at no one in particular, feeling her way around the table blindly. I nudge one directly into the path of her wondering hand because I am a good friend.

"Good morning," I remark dryly, nudging her when I feel like she's had enough of her toast to not decapitate me in a fit of sleepless rage. "How'd you manage to find your way out of your flamingo fortress?"

Her head rolls on her shoulder to give me a death stare. "Don't think I don't rememb – "

" – The snot dance! Swing your snot to the left, swing it to the right, dangle to the left, and jump to the right – "

Her eyes snap toward the general direction of Black, and she looks like she's about to hurl, holding two fingers against her lips and gagging. Composing herself, she grabs a knife – during which time I fear for my life – and begins to butter her toast.

" – Nod to the front, dangle, dangle, and full snot around, shimmy to the ground – Peter, I said _shimmy, _not fall on your arse –"

I feel sorry for Mina's toast. It's being stabbed and buttered with such unadulterated rage that you can actually hear it screaming for help. Something must be said. Since I am a good friend. And talking is what good friends do at times like this. When one's potential boyfriend or ex-snog-partner is ignoring said person and doing a bleeding snot-dance and one is instead stabbing poor defenseless pastries.

"Mina."

"Sh."

"_Mina_."

"Honestly, I'm not in the mood."

" – WORMTAIL YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG! IT'S DANGLE, _THEN _FULL SNOT AROUND! PAY ATTENTION, FOR THE LOVE OF – "

She looks over then, giving the toast temporary relief from its disembowelment, and glares at Black with such intensity I can practically see his hair smoking. He's oblivious of course, swinging his face around and singing at the top of his lungs about bogeys and Peter's idiocy, while Potter bangs his head to the rhythm and Remus orchestrates the whole ordeal with his spoon.

"Silly," Mina mutters darkly, and I can hear a vague growling coming from deep in her throat. "Stupid and moronic, that's what they are."

Funny, really, coming from someone who practically snogs flamingos in their sleep.

She turns her attention to the lone sausage sitting in her plate and I attempt to get a word before she impales it on her fork. "Hey – "

But the rest of my very consoling speech is drowned out by a hysterical banshee cry coming from our left, particularly from the mouth of one, Sirius Black.

"ARGH!" He screams girlishly, tugging at the bubble gum that's now spread across his entire face and running around in circles, sending bystanders hurling to the ground "PRETEND BOGEY IN MY EYE! MEDIC! MEDIC! HELP!"

He proceeds to flop onto his back and faint, the idiot.

At the sudden staged performance, laughter and applause breaks out in tiny flitters around the room, some of the Slytherins secretly snickering behind their hands, while a few Head Boys and Girls break into grins. It progresses until it reaches a crescendo, Black's anitcs leaving the entire student body doubled over and in tears of mirth.

"QUIET!"

Like someone's flipped shut a booming radio, the room falls into a deafening silence. Save for clicking heels. McGonagall bustles over, nose in the air and lips pursed, her brow furrowed so deep I doubt it'll retain its original shape. Black's probably caused most of her wrinkles, anyway.

"Black!" she shrieks, towering over his head and nudging him with her shoe, repulsed. "Get up, get up!"

He finally 'comes to' after much yelling and nudging and threats of point deduction. He looks up, smiling dazedly through his bubble gum infested face. "Wha – where am I? Am I in heaven? Are you Gabriel?"

Good grief. There go twenty points.

"No," she snaps, "But I do urge you to consider how heavenly four months of detention will be."

Black makes a quite startling recovery, after that.

"Oh, that won't be necessary, Minnie – er – I mean – Professor McGonagall, m'am – madam – my lady – your highness – your most splendiferous excellency – I feel much better after my little rest."

McGonagall glares at him for a final ten seconds and Black stands there looking like a sheep before she spins on her heel and marches away, students jumping out of the way to avoid her wrath, Black crumbling into the seat between Potter and Peter like a girl.

He walks around the rest of the day with pink goo attached to his face and singing the most requested sections of The Snot Dance, staying carefully out of the earshot of McGonagall.


	11. The Joys and Harassments of Note Passing

**- Chapter XI - **

_The Joys and Harassments of Note Passing_

_

* * *

_

I cannot wait for Christmas break. Three days. Three, whole, torturous days. Three daaaays.

Until then, it's just dull, dull, dully dully and more dull. And more dull. It's just – wait for it – DULL.

I'm so bloody sick of dodging love potion-ed pumpkin juice and running away from Potter. The ladies in horror movies never mentioned how tiring running away is. They just dandily skip away from the monster and live happily ever after.

Or they get eaten.

Which is far less pleasant.

Why can't I do that? Dandily skip away from the monster that is _Potter. _

Actually, if I'm going to do any skipping, I just want to skip the next ten years of my life, to when I'll probably be a lesbian, will have completely given up on men, and be living alone with a thousand cats.

I'll have separate names for each of them. Like Angus, Buttercup, and Bumblebee. I'll give them all middle names and last names, too. They'll call me 'the crazy cat lady.'

It has a ring to it. I like it.

And the kids will fear me. And I'll beat them off from my cat garden with my walking stick shaped like the tail of a cat.

Potter will make me lesbian. How funny.

And I'm not even into irony.

I shouldn't have given up on Divination. I think I have the 'inner eye' whatsits.

On the other foot, why must Sunday end so quickly? It is so unfair. I hate Sundays. They are unjust. And must be removed from the calendar all together. So should Mondays, for that matter. Why is it that Friday is so close to Monday, but Monday is _so very far away _from Friday?

One of those unanswerable questions in life.

Another unanswerable question – Why must we have Potions first thing Monday morning? Don't they ever think about students?

On second thought, Slughorn is probably too busy eating crystallized pineapple and growing his gigantic arse to worry about my sleeping patterns. Or Mina's love-life, for that matter. Clearly, seating her two meters away from Sirius Black isn't the brightest thing one can do on a bright and cheerful Monday morning.

I wish Potter would quit breathing so loudly. It's distracting me. And his elbow keeps bumping into mine. My elbow is mine, not his to annoy at his leisure.

His elbow is warm. How it can be warm when it's about minus forty degrees outside is beyond me. Bloody space-heater.

What makes this day even more delightful is that half my robes, and my copy of _Advanced Potion Making_ is covered in green slime, thanks to Mina who spilt all of her Giggling Mix over it. It's supposed to be magenta, not acid green.

Gifted, that's what she is.

And I think that – _Ow. _

What the hell just hit my head?

Oh, I see. Potter just threw parchment at me.

See, the old Lily would have turned around and yelled at him, but me, the new and improved Lily, shall not. Because I have grown up. Righty-o. I have _grown up. _MATURED, as they say. Some would think that would make me more normal. Perhaps sane. But no. Of course not.

Now he's making some sort of stupid whistling sound and tapping my hand with his quill. I shall ignore him. Ignore him, Lily. You're a free lady, who deserves to be free, and free, and free, forever. And live with cats. _Forever…alone…forev – OW! _

I turn around and glare at Potter. "Do I look like a garbage bag to you?" I hiss venomously, as he starts pointing at the parchment by my hand wildly. Hm.

**_Hello, fine lady. _**

Where did he learn to write so goddamn small? From a fruit fly?

I might steal his ink bottle. It changes colors. I want it. Perhaps if I point out that it's girly, he'll get homophobic and hand it over. Hm. I must think this plan through.

I let out tired breath and glance at Mina on my right, who's too busy cutting up horn roots to even notice me. I'm quite sure she isn't supposed to cut them that small. Or be muttering under her breath, for that matter. She's looking quite homicidal. I'm planning to scooch my chair away soon. Then again, I'd fall straight into James's face, which is something I'm planning to avoid for the purposes of maintaining my teenage hormones under control.

Very sneakily, I turn around and look at Black, who is next to James and who has leaned his chair into the wall, staring up into space. Clearly being productive, as usual.

I'm having an urge to lean over James and trip Black. But I won't. This might again cause me to somehow be in physical contact with Potter, which is something I am _definitely _planning to avoid.

James is making odd spitting sounds again. I suppose he wants a reply.

What to do, what to do?

Bah, I'm going to take the bull by the legs and hurl it about a bit and strap on a little hat on its head and …shut up, brain. I'm going to be sophisticatedly nonchalant.

**_Hi, Potter. What do you want? _**

Hah. It hit his head. Lovely.

That's what you get for ruining my hair. I spent hours taming that hair. Now I look like I have a bird's nest on my head.

I tap my book impatiently, having finished my Giggling Mix already. I'm waiting for a reply from Potter. Eurgh. This is what happens when Christmas comes around.

This time, he tactfully slides the parchment under my nose, and not on my head.

**_How are you, this lovely day? _**

Horrible, how are you?

Oh, how I despise him.

_**Great.** _

Oh, how I lie.

**_Your conversational skills are mind-boggling. I'm great too, thanks for asking. Are you staying for Christmas break?_**

I am.

Stupid Petunia.

Stupid France.

She just had to go and run off there, didn't she? And Mum and Dad just needed to follow. Pah. She can drown in their bloody frog-legs, for all I care. Petunia, that is. I rather like my parents. I'll keep them frog-free for the time being.

Should I lie to him? Should I not? I'm in a dilemma. Normally, I would, of course. Then again, under the present circumstances, if I lie to him, he'll get huffy and won't talk to me. And that could disrupt our head duties. No. I must be gallant and tell him the truth. For the good of…headness.

What an impatient prick.

**_Where are you going? _**

Slowly insane?

**_Unfortunately, I'm staying put. _**

Pleaase, he's not staying, say he's not staying, say he's not staying, not staying, not staying, not stayi –

**_Oh, what a coincidence! As am I! The holiday dictates that we must be celebratory together. Would you like to join me in the festivities? _**

It's official. God hates me. And chanting is pointless.

…_What_ does that mean? Is that 'guy-speak' for some kind of date? If I agree, does that mean I'm going out with him? If I say yes, do I become "easy" by Hogwarts standards? Do I become just another bimbo he's dated and trashed?

Or is he implying that he and I should collaborate somehow? Exchange word salad? Because nothing good comes of that. _Nothing, you understand? NOTHING! _I start staring at his hair/ eyes/face/eyebrows/arms/elbows/etc. and then I remember things, and things aren't good to remember because I get embarrassed and that whole chocolate incident thing and it's all very complicated and deeply problema_ – _

"Lily, quit hissing."

"Oh, right. Sorry," I mutter hastily at Mina. I really don't want to bug her today. I'd like all of my limbs attached and my hair on the top of my head. I must regulate my outbursts and limit it to…well, none.

**_What exactly do you mean by that? _**

I turn and raise a delicate eyebrow.

**_Some sort of Christmas celebration, my dear flower. A trip to Hogesmede, perhaps? _**

…NO. And NO. And also, NO.

_Forget it, Potter. _

He's pouting. Oh, no. He's pouting. His lips… I think I may faint. NO. WAIT. Control yourself, Lily.

**_I do have a plan that might make you reconsider. _**

I cross my arms and allow my eyes to narrow.

**_Elaborate. _**

He smiles.

**_I was thinking, if we were to somehow get Mina and Sirius to go out for the day, they'll make up and I won't have to hear another chorus of 'SHES SO ANNOYING.' It's getting tiring, that. _**

Ah, it's the old 'we must help out friends out of the goodness of our cold, black hearts!' thing.

**_So you're doing this for Black? _**

He just looked at the parchment and snorted…I could have lived a long happy life without hearing him snort.

**_Dear Lily, course not. I couldn't care less about that crazy lunatic. But in theory, if they do make up, he'll stop complaining, which will benefit me, considering I live with him. Or, better yet, stick them together alone, they'll end up killing each other and we'll be free. It's purely for selfish reasons, see? It's just so that I don't lose my mind and rip all of my hair out. __And I know how much you like my hair. _**

HE LIES! I DO NOT LIKE HIS HAIR! IT'S A LIE, IT'S A LIE! HIS HAIR IS ALL SOFT AND SHINY AND LIKE A FUR COAT AND I'M AGAINST ANIMAL CRUELTY –

**_I do __NOT__ like your hair. Conceited prick. _**

He's turned around and is grinning at me.

**_Oh, your denial is endearing. _**

I give him a forced grimace.

Oho.

No sireee.

I am not falling for that dumb smirk.

It's repulsive, in fact.

Actually, it is so repulsive that I should agree to go on this thing so that he stops displaying that vile thing to the world.

Yes.

That's precisely why I am accepting this offer.

For the good of the world.

So no one has to bear witness to that awful smirk.

I groan.

**_Alright. Fine. I surrender. Whatever. But keep in mind (if you want to keep all of your limbs attached), that this is just for Mina. __Not __for you. Don't you dare try anything. _**

"No…" he whispers to himself, looking at the note. He has resumed regular conversation. He must be quite shocked. He blinks several billion times. "Hold up, you're actually agreeing to go with me somewhere?" He mutters disbelievingly into my ear, his breath tickling my neck.

Twitch.

Twitch.

I try to glare. _Try, _being the operative word. Potter looks so good in green light. Damn the stupid Potions lanterns.

"Yes, yes," I snap back, waving him away. His eyes widen in surprise. "No!" I correct myself, and he looks confused. "Well, just for Mina," I clarify, turning my shoulder to him and pretend to be working on my potion. That I'd finished over half an hour ago.

And bragged to him about it.

He knows I'm not doing anything.

Damn my enormous ego in all things academic.

He leans over, even though my shoulder is turned to him. He's practically on top of me. This is very inappropriate. HEY! GETTOF, BOY, GETOFF!

"Alright, Christmas day, then," he confirms and then moves away, shrugging happily and turning back to Black.

I'm melting.

I'm. Melting.

And. I am screwed. I just agreed to go somewhere with Potter.

Merry bloody Christmas to you all.

_.x.x.x._

Out of class. Finally. There's only so much praise I can take from a sycophant like Slughorn. He spent the last 20 minutes laughing at one of his jokes. I swear I thought he was going to drown in his own forty chins.

Potter is walking in front of me.

_Strutting, _more like it.

Strut, strut, strutty, strutty, strut.

Good god, I'm losing my mind. I have to stop objectifying him. But for me to do that, he's gotta stop strutti –

Hm. He turned around. Now it looks like I'm staring at his crotch. Brilliant.

Look away, Lily. Look _away_.

"Hi," Potter says slowly, smiling at me and grabbing Black by the collar and holding him back, who gasps dramatically, clutching his throat with a little squeak. Realizing his company, he clears his throat in a rather masculine fashion, turns around completely indifferent, and stares away.

"Hi," I echo, grabbing the shoulder of Mina's shirt and pulling her next to me. Her and Black refuse to look at each other. It's quite funny. The rest of the students are filing away from both sides while we sort of dawdle there for a while, Black staring down at his feet as if his shoelaces are telling an interesting story whereas Mina staring hard at a wall.

"Alright then," Potter mutters into the awkward silence, "Good talk." I watch them walk away for a couple of seconds as Potter slaps his friend's head rather irritably, muttering something I can't hear.

Turning the corner –

Oh god, he's looked back.

No, mouth, don't you dare grin back at him, no, NO, NO! I'm having a war with my own body, as my mouth cracks the tiniest smile. Though I suspect it looks like I'm in pain or something. Potter just smirks contently and continues strutting.

That arse.

Speaking of arses, James has a _very_ nice looking one.

_Sigh. _

No, wait. No sigh.

Sighing never leads to good things. It leads to a _lot_ of Potter-related venting in the common room and inappropriate and unsettling dreams that do not exist that aren't even mine actually they're a friends dream – a friend of a friend not even a friend not even remotely related to me –

Mina's grumbling. Must give her chocolate.

"Come on," I say slowly, nudging her in the direction the boys left. "Let's go."

She shrugs, pouting childishly, pulling at my arm. "No. _He's _going to be there."

I roll my eyes and try to reason with her. "Well, you have to go some time."

"No," she retorts stubbornly, shrugging again and crossing her arms. "I don't _have_ to."

"No?" I quirk an eyebrow, looking at her with a half-smile. "Sure you don't." She nods in stiff approval. "You'll just sleep out in the great hall all alone." She nods again, now looking less confident.

"_All _alone." She nods a third time gently, grimacing.

I smile, leaning in and adding, "With the _house-elves_."

Her eyes widen immediately, twitching a couple of times in rapid succession. "Off we go." She says with an air of finality, grabbing my arm and hauling me into the common room.

* * *

**Review! **

_Johnnydicaprio xx_


	12. Being Stalked by Stags and Mistletoe

_Helloo!! I know i've been terrible at updating. But oh, well. _

_Anyways, I've written the next two chapters already, and I was going to post 12 and 13 together as one chapter, but it was too long. I think this is very long by itself, too. But I had to put it altogether. See, though I don't update in a while, when I do...it's looong. _

_Have fun and don't forget to leave a review!!_

_.x.x.x._

Oh god, no.

I can't be here.

I'm going to close my eyes, and open them, and James will not be in front of me. That's right. Alright, closing.

Ok, he's still here.

Fine, I'll pinch myself.

Now, pinch. _OW. _

…

I _cannot_ be stuck under the mistletoe with James Potter.

How did I get here? Let's recap.

.x.x.x.

"Lily?"

"Mrghhph."

"Lilllly?"

"Mgrhhhggh."

"LILY!"

My bed is so warm. I refuse to leave the bed. I want to fuse with the bed. Just become one. Just a bed-woman my entire life. Live under the covers and have servants bring up food and water. And get fat and live alone forever.

"**Wake up!"**

Maybe if I get so fat to the point where I can't walk much less get off my bed, Potter will stop stalking me. I think it's worth a shot. The second I'm able to talk again I'll tell Mina about my 'getting fat' plan.

Potter'll leave me alone.

I know he's scared of morbidly obese people.

Hah. I am a genius.

"**LIII-LIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!"**

Or maybe, I could even design a complex machine in order to hex myself so that I can be bed-ridden my entire life.

"**OI, YOU MORON!" **

Oh, wait. I see a flaw in that logic. Knowing Potter, he'll probably hex himself with the machine so that he can lie next to me for all eternity.

I would find that utterly charming, gallant, and self-sacrificing, if it were someone other than Potter.

James – bloody – Potter. Potter. He's like….like the little scratch on the roof of my mouth that would heal if only I could stop tonguing it.

Eurgh.

That sounds gross.

"**I'm going to leave you here if you don't wake up!" **

He'd probably grope me in his sleep or something.

Then again, if I'm bed-ridden, _and_ fat, I can roll over and kill him. With my sheer weight. Hm. Being fat sounds like a great weapon. I need to give this plan more thought.

"**Lily, wake the hell up! It's Christmas!"**

Who gives a bloody damn. I don't. I can't even bother to open my eyes.

The fact that I can't even bother to open my eyes just goes to show how much _I don't care._

Christmas is just an excuse to give people stupid presents and act like you care. Can you sense that I'm slightly bitter about spending Christmas in the school and not at home like I usually do?

I'm not bitter.

Pah. Like I'd like to go to Petunia's wedding.

I bet everything is going to be nauseatingly pink.

I hope she drowns in her bloody ice sculptures or something.

Eugh.

"**Fine, be a lazy pig. I'm going down to have breakfast." **

Dandy. Goodbye, now. I need solitude to think about my 'getting-fat-and-killing-Potter' plan.

"Are we doing anything today?"

Crap.

In a struggle to untangle myself from my covers, I end up with my comforter around my neck and close to asphyxiating myself. I try to cry out her name, but I end up wheezing. She leaves the room without an answer or recognizing the fact that her friend is about to strangle herself.

Double crap.

.x.x.x.

'Course then I spent half an hour struggling to untangle myself from my murderous bed sheets.

The next half an hour, I spent to find the courage in myself to tell Mina that I've set her up on a date with the boy she hates so much she hopes his genitals would spontaneously fall off.

I couldn't.

I then proceeded up to the common room after she had left, and mustered up some of that good ol' courage.

I think it may have had something to do with the twelve cups of coffee I had for breakfast.

The house-elves sneered at me when I asked for coffee. Those mutated goblins.

…It's the coffee. I'm usually not this irritable.

I didn't notice, in my caffeine induced blindness, that I walked straight under the cleverly placed mistletoes in the common room. Naturally, Potter didn't miss the chance to jump my bones. And now I'm stuck under this godforsaken plant with this godforsaken boy.

When the _hell_ did we enter December, anyway? Seasons are so infuriating. One day I sit outside in the nice winter sun, the next, Hogwarts is up to snow to its windows. Honestly. A little heads-up would have been nice.

The lake is frozen solid, and I'm having the inkling feeling that the snow balls that were bewitched to follow and poke the teachers silly have something to do with Potter and his gang. The castle had a field day with it, actually. We roared in laughter for quite some time when the snowballs zoomed around after Slughorn, as he ran away as fast as his tiny legs could carry him. He was out of breath in less than five seconds. To be fair, having more chins than the average human probably hindered his running capabilities.

Then they sent about three hundred after Severus, laughing openly as he slipped and sploshed through the snow to avoid them. He blocked them all in the end, though, he's rather gifted with random spells like that. In fact, I was quite certain he invented a few on his own a couple years back. He never really shared it with me, though.

And I'd actually stick up for him if he hadn't been so incredibly selfish and cruel to me the past few weeks. So, as far as I'm concerned, he can get beaten to death with those snowballs, and I wouldn't move a muscle.

Hmph.

'Course it all got less funny when McGonagall went ballistic, marched out of the castle, and scorched the snowballs without so much as raising her wand. We all scattered like ants to avoid her wrath.

Not that Dumbledore would ever punish the golden foursome, of course. It was openly their doing, I'm quite sure he knew. Really, I sometimes think the old crook likes people poking fun at him.

Maybe he's gone senile, I don't know.

But Potter and his mates have done quite enough 'round this school, and they'd have been expelled for it, if Dumbledore didn't have a soft spot for them.

And I'm quite sure I have no clue why I'm thinking about these things when one of the golden boys' is standing in front of me, looking very pleased with himself, under the temporary delusion that I'd actually let my lips touch his again.

Anyway, Christmas is just so unfair. It just flies at you from behind some random corner like a rabid dog.

A rabid dog with red and green teeth. And presents. And carols. And BLEEDING MISTLETOE!

I can't kiss him again. There is no way.

No _way_.

Pfft. Like I wanted Christmas break to come along. AGH!

Damage control, brain. Damage control.

Alright.

I'm going to walk away. That's right. Look at me all you want you twerp, I'm just going to walk away from your marvelous lips that look so kissable – what are you talking about, they aren't kissable – I think I've gone mad –

Yes. Walking now. Walking. Walkiiing away.

Feet, move. We talked about moving before, did we not? Yes, we did. So, I said, you'll move when I tell you to.

…

YOU'RE ATTACHED TO _MY _GODDAMN BODY! WHEN _I_ SAY MOVE, YOU _MOVE_!

Or, you don't.

Jesus.

I'm hearing wolf-whistling. Or is that the sound you head makes when you've gone completely raving bonkers? Like an alert signal it gives you right before it combusts or implodes or explodes…or something.

"Kiss the girl!"

Then again, maybe not.

"Lily?" He smiles and that annoying way he does and walks towards me.

My head is spinning off its axis. It's go bloody hot in here I can't think. Potter's face is swimming in front of me, his lips looking proportionally giant and cartoonishly distorted.

There is only so much I can take.

I think I might cry.

Ladies and Gentlemen, if you would all take out books and ignore me and pretend to be reading while I leak tears of frustration, that would be just swell.

Hm. If I cried, would that make him uncomfortable enough to leave me alone? "You've done it before…"

Oh, he's evil.

That's just a downright mean thing to throw in my face. It's not my bleeding fault the werewolf had the sudden inspiration to give me chocolate full of evil, dark, dark, magic!

As he smiles even wider, my stomach flutters and does that annoying flip-flop thingy.

Of course it's only because I want to hurl.

"James," I say slowly. "I'm _not_ going to kiss you again." _Yes you are. _No, I'm not. _Yeeees, you are. This is your conscience speaking. And I'm smarter than you. And you __**will**__ kiss him. _

My conscience should bugger off. I have no immediate need for it at the moment.

He's smiling and looking at me over his glasses. Oh god no. No, no, no, no, no, no, noooooo… "Lily, it's just a kiss.."

_Oho. _It may be just a kiss to you mister, but to me, it's handing over all of my feminism and independence and being your complete love slave – now that doesn't sound so bad –

ARGH!

Help me.

"BAH!" I scream, and he jumps back, scared. Lily, you've scared him away! Huzaah!

…now complete your sentence. Or you'll just sound like a crazed loony.

"I…I…I left the pot…um…I have to…water…my bed…"

He's looking at me like I'm insane.

I'm rather inclined to agree with him.

I think I must have my head checked.

He's distracted by your insanity! RUN!

Run, run, run.

Pant, pant, pant.

Run, run, run.

Up the stairs, past the 1st years, do not stomp on them, that's _bad, _now into your room, AHA! SAFETY! MY BED, WHO DOESN'T WANT TO SNOG ME! YAAAY!

Hey, I've just realized something. Why is it when I'm in a situation that has something to do with Potter and his lips, I end up running for dear life?

I mean, who puts up mistletoe in the bleeding common room? Those things aren't safe! They aren't toys! You can't just leave them around all willy-nilly!

Has Potter recruited the house-elves to plot fiendishly against me so that I would ultimately end up in very compromising situations involving his lips?

Am I being justifiably paranoid?

I practically break down the door to the dorm bathroom and barge in as Mina's brushing her teeth. Apparently she's back from breakfast.

"Good god," she whispers, looking at me with wide eyes, the tooth brush still in her mouth. She looks like she's got rabies. Ha. Ha. Hahaha. Rabies. Ha. Oh, god. I'm in hell. "The hell happened to you?"

"Misletoe," I mutter breathlessly, doubling over and clutching my stomach. Apparently I'm not that athletic. My body does not approve of exercise. "Potter."

She sighs. "Ah. But, of course. How original." She spits out the toothpaste distastefully into the sink, and leans on one hip like she does when she's about to endow some wisdom upon my very primitive brain. "Look," she tells me slowly, gesticulating with her hand gently. "You don't like him, and he doesn't get the message, right?" I nod, albeit a little unsurely but she doesn't see my unsureness. "I could remove his legs, if you'd like. So he can't run after you."

She shrugs simply, as if the thought of removing someone's legs does not disturb her.

I'm getting scared.

"No, no!" I say hastily in an attempt to calm her down before she gallivants off to perform painful and crippling hexes on Potter_._

Not that I care in the slightest possible way.

'Course I don't.

Her eyes are fixed on me, though she seems lost in her thoughts. "I could…hm…I could make him infertile, make him sprout warts, or grow hair out of his nostrils long enough to strangle him with it," she offers this time, tapping her chin. "Or as an early birthday present, I could make him look completely repulsive…come to think of it, I think I saw a spell that would remove his pe – though I think I'd rather save that for Black – "

"NO, NO!" I scream, covering my ears, deathly afraid of what she wants to remove this time. "NO TALKS OF REMOVING _ANYTHING,_ FROM _ANYONE!_"

Is _everyone_ in my life bananas, or what?

"Lily," she says, chuckling lightly, tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear. "Sometimes, you just need to kill people." My eyes widen even more. She continues to laugh. "I was kidding," she says good-naturedly, turning around and leaning on the sink as I step back into the dorm room. "Why are you so _jumpy_?"

"I'm not jumpy," I state, throwing myself on top of the bed and dragging my quilt to cover my face. "I'm just terribly, terribly alert."

"I see." She sighs again and throws a towel over her shoulder, stepping out of the bathroom. She walks toward the mirror in our dorm and lets loose her hair. "You said you wanted to talk to me this morning?"

Crap.

I wonder if I can asphyxiate myself with a pillow.

.x.x.x.

"You're freakin' shitting me."

And this is him being supportive.

He shakes his hair out of his eyes and glares at me. "Prongs, you have got to be shitting me."

I sigh. And I sigh again. And sigh again. Until he starts looking at me like he thinks I'm being queer and should immediately stop whatever I am doing.

"I am not shitting you," I say clearly. I pause slightly as he keeps glaring at me through his hair that has fallen on his face.

He looks like a rabid dog.

I'm beginning to fear for my life.

I think I should plot all possible escape routes from the common room if I can get through this afternoon without being beaten to a bloody pulp.

You know, for future reference.

Not that I'm planning to tell him that I set him up with some other girl he hates anywhere in the future. Death by head removal is not in my plans.

Plus, I think being head-less on my part could put a damper me and Lily's relationship.

Then she'd leave me for some guy with an actual head.

And I will not have that happen.

"Prongs, you've got to be kidding me!" he yells this time, pleading. He's whining. This isn't boding well with his or my reputation. People are beginning to stare.

I give him an unconcerned smile. It's completely fake, don't let it fool you. "Come on Padfoot, it's only one day!"

"IT'S ONE DAY WITH THE BLOODY DEVIL!" he screams at me, his voice cracking and going up multiple octaves. I loosen my collar and rub the back of my neck nervously until people look away, then I inconspicuously wallop him upside the head. We're in a crowded common room. He should learn to control his volume.

He glares up at me. "You're an absolute idiot, Prongs."

"You just said I was brilliant!" I protest at his changeable attitude.

"That was before you told me I was involved in your stupid date!" Sirius exclaims, slamming his hand against the table in objection. "It's not even worth it! The girl hates your guts!"

"Honestly, James, what were you planning to do?" Remus, the ever fair one. He could probably defend Snivelly if he killed me with his greasy brains.

"Well," I say, a little shyly. "I was planning to…you know…take her out to Hogesmede…and you know…woo her."

Sirius scoffs with an air of pompous-ness (or is it pomposity?) around him. "You know what you should do, Prongs? Take her back to the 1800's when that phrase was last used."

I narrow my eyes and glare at his pathetic attempt at humour. "Oh," I suddenly recall. "By the way, can I borrow your tie, Padfoot? Wormtail spat on mine."

Peter slumps back in his chair and mutters something moodily about indigestion.

"Sure," Remus butts in excitedly before Sirius can reply. "Though you'll have to give it back to him when he gets a date with Taylor. 'Course by then, ties will be obsolete and we'll all be wearing silver jumpsuits."

Ha.

Ha, ha, ha.

"Moony," I mutter in awe. "You made a joke." He beams proudly. "And it was funny," I comment, still dumbstruck.

"Thank you, thank you," Remus says modestly. "I've – "

"You've practiced that the whole day in front of a mirror, haven't you, Moony?" Sirius questions with a sneer. Remus shrugs. Sirius turns to me, looking proud. "The answer is no, Prongs. No tie for you."

"Come on," I whine, clasping my hands together in prayer position. I'm even contemplating getting on my knees and doing a full on slimy begging thing, but I might decide against it to maintain my manliness. "Do me this one favour!"

"No!" he retaliates stubbornly, his eyes widening. "I'm sick of being everyone's butt-monkey! Sirius do this, do that, talk like this, gimme that, don't do that, don't eat that, don't hex him, don't punch her, blah, blah, blah, no! That's it! I'm done being a little man-bitch!" He pauses, eyeing me with pity. "Get off the floor, Prongs!"

I huff, and get up off my knees. "So you won't do it?"

"He doesn't want to be a man bitch," Peter says reasonably, looking up at Sirius like he thinks he's some kind of holy deity. That boy would tag along with Padfoot even if he jumped off the Astronomy Tower.

Honestly, the boy worries me.

Remus clarifies. "Meaning he doesn't want to go through with it neither the tie, nor the date. I'm not sure this is a good idea, anyway, James."

"It's the best idea, Moony!" I say surely, barking a confident laugh. "What happened? You were being funny about it a moment ago!"

"HOW IS THIS – " Sirius receives a harsh glare from Moony for his volume. Hah. In your face, dumb dog. He drops his voice. "How is this a good idea?!" He whisper/shouts at me. "How is putting me – " he points at his chest, "and HER –" he jabs a finger at the girls dormitory stairs, "in the same environment, a good idea?! I've already got one oppressive woman in my life and that's my dear mum! Ever wonder why I'm living with you?"

Yes, yes, I am quite aware that I have a Sirius Black sharing a bathroom with me during the summer holidays. I need no reminders.

"Well," I say uncertainly, scratching my head. "I just – "

"Do you want your best mate to die? Is that your problem?" Sirius questions rudely, widening his eyes. "Is that it? Are you in league with Taylor? You want her to kill me this time? Are you giving her extra hexes so that she can give me a giant ball of lard for a head or something??"

His eyes are shining with something that looks like tears.

It might be the tension from his excessive paranoia.

"Relax, Padfoot," I mutter, making calming motions with my hand. "I'm not trying to kill you."

"Pah!" Sirius scoffs loudly, turning his head away indignantly. "That's what they all say."

I look at him pleadingly. "Look, I'm sorry. It just seemed like a good idea at the time…"

"You mean when you weren't thinking about anything else but snogging your precious Lily?!" Sirius snarls with a grimace on his face. I fake a slightly offended expression but he ignores it and carries on. "Did you get hit in the face with a bludger last practice?" he inquires, his face inches from mine. This is really not appropriate in the sense of preserving our masculinity in the eye of the general public. "DID YOU?"

"No," I clarify, moving my face as far away from him as possible. Now I'm on top of Remus. Great. "I didn't."

"Then what gave you the impression that I'd like going on a bloody double date?!" He lowers his voice so that he spits the last part out like its something disgusting. "With bleeding Taylor! Honestly! That woman is insane! She'll murder me in cold blood and dump me behind a pub!" He slaps his head in disappointment.

"But Padfoot – "

Too late.

"Did you not see what that maniac did to me last time?" He asks shrilly. "She almost killed me, Prongs!"

"Oh pish posh, Padfoot," Moony mutters lazily. "Stop describing it like it was such a traumatic experience."

Sirius turns on Moony, his eyes livid and spouting fire. "YOU don't know! YOU weren't there!" He screams, waggling his finger at him accusingly. "YOU weren't on the receiving end of her bloody chair-flinging abilities! I thought I was going to have a bleeding stroke!" Remus puts his hands up in defense as Sirius spins around and looks at me. "Besides," He adds as an afterthought, "I don't date! Don't you know anything about me?"

I do, unfortunately.

I happen to know quite a bit about the enigmatic genetic mutation that is Sirius Black.

…on second thought, I don't even know what enigmatic means.

Must ask Moony later.

"Oh," I scoff. "Shut your gob, Padfoot."

He glares at me, shrieking offendedly. "I will not! My best mate is plotting to kill me – "

"Oh for the love of God, I'm not trying to kill – "

"He has a point, Prongs," Remus cuts in reasonably, shrugging. "He's never dated."

Sirius gives a stiff nod before turning around and scoffing slightly at the statement. "I resent that! I have dated! I just prefer not to anymore."

"Actually, I don't think he's ever dated." Peter notes conversationally only to be silenced by a glower from Sirius. He quickly disappears into his food and pretends to be a part of the cupcake he stole from the kitchens.

"I have dated," Sirius states through clenched teeth, ignoring Remus's curious quirk of the eyebrow.

"Give one legitimate example," Remus challenges. "One."

"Erm…" Sirius looks up. "Shelly Rigzby?"

Peter frowns, momentarily ungluing himself from his muffin and looking pensive. "That girl who gained twenty pounds and tried to kill you with a brick?"

"No, no, no, no," Sirius shakes his head as he scratches his temple. "That was Jenna. Or Joanna…Delilah?"

I roll my eyes. "Jenna's the screamer, Delilah was the prefect," I state dully.

"Oh," Sirius exhales. "Right. I meant Leila." He groans and slaps his forehead. "Damn it."

Remus retreats behind his book giving a triumphant grunt.

Sirius looks appalled and puffs out his chest indignantly. "This proves nothing! I dated! I don't anymore. I've had my share, and now I'm going global. Available at all times." He pauses. "Not tied down to a single woman." He pauses again, his face flooding with anger. "Now you've set me up! What will my admirers say?" He fakes a very sad face. "What happens if they come crying to me, begging me to end their misery! I'll have to oblige them!" He looks around, paranoid and suddenly frightened. "And then Taylor will kill me."

I narrow my eyes. "Padfoot, are you using the phrase 'end their misery' as a euphemism to snogging their faces'off random broom cupboards?"

He pulls a shocked face. "Course not! What a ghastly accusation!" He proceeds to poke my nose and walk around the room tutting to himself.

"Sirius," Remus mutters tiredly from behind his Charms book. "Why are you making this such a big deal?"

"What?" Sirius snaps, turning his head mid-pace.

Remus sighs. "How come this girl is causing you so much trouble?"

Sirius snorts. "Because she's bonkers?"

"That's not what I meant," Remus insists, rolling his eyes. "You've been going on about how you despise her and can't stand her and can't be in the same room with her…"

"And?"

"Well," Remus leans in slightly. "I'm beginning to think that you're not being completely honest. Because it's never taken you more than a week to get over a relationship – "

"It's never taken him more than a shower to get over a relationship," I comment, unable to stop myself. Then, I of course, dodge the pillow that materializes out of thin air and comes flying at me.

Chuckling a little, Remus continues, though still not completely diverting his attention from the Charms book settled cozily in his lap, " – You've been talking about her for the past month."

Sirius rolls his eyes. "What's your bleeding point, Moony? I don't need an encyclopedia extract."

Remus exhales, annoyed. "My point is, I think you like this girl."

"Oh, you're talking out of your arse, wolf-boy," Sirius mutters after a moment of reflective silence.

That moment of reflective silence is enough for everyone to make up their minds and come to a conclusion.

I want to jump up in the air and do a victory dance, chanting, Sirius loves a giiiiiiiiiiiirrrl, Sirius loves a giiiiiiiiiiiiiirl. But I won't.

"I think you really do," Remus mutters conversationally.

Oh, he's my hero.

I bloody love Remus.

Ahem.

I mean.

I admire him as a human being.

And appreciate – erm – value him as a friend.

But in no way feel any feelings that can be evaluated as non-masculine or…in any way…poofter…y.

I should rectify as soon as possible that my feelings for Remus are in no way poofter-y.

Onto more masculine topics.

"I vote you love her."

Crap.

"Shut up Peter before I throw you through a wall," Sirius murmurs dangerously to which Peter sticks a heavily brown and chocolate-y looking tongue out. 'Course he'd never do that if he were alone with Padfoot. He just trusts me to protect him from the doggy's fangs.

"You aren't denying it," Remus points out, waggling a finger up into the air.

Sirius scowls, eyeing Moony's finger with distaste. "Put that finger down, Moony."

"Hah," Remus whispers self-assuredly. "I knew you liked her."

"Ugh," Sirius grunts, plopping himself onto an armchair, looking very put out. "Quit being a smartarse."

"Objectively, I'd say I'm very intelligent but that has nothing to do with my arse."

Standard Moony reply.

He's a funny boy.

"Which means," I state loudly, "I WAS RIGHT AND I AM BRILLIANT!"

"You're out of your tree! I despise the girl!"

.x.x.x.

"So that's it."

"Oh?"

Oh? I stare at her. She then bursts out laughing and bangs her tiny fists against the table. I laugh weakly, but really don't see what's funny about our current situation. Mina's sudden bouts of having a sense of humour don't usually last long. Thank Merlin. She sobers up, and lets out a breath.

"You're laughing?" I inquire timidly, looking at her as though she could blow up any second. My eyes are searching the room for available hide-outs should she explode.

"Why shouldn't I?" She responds good-humouredly, wiping tears of laughter from her eye with her hand. "You were kidding, of course."

Crap.

At my slightly (I use that word liberally, I am absolutely dying of fright inside) worried expression, she looks at me quizzically, and I put my hands up in defeat. No use arguing with Mina when she suddenly loses her sense of humour. She'll shoot you down. And you'll sink. Like a lead balloon.

"I wasn't."

My instincts are practically screaming at me to duck and cover.

"No?"

They aren't screaming anymore. They think it's too late for me. They've evacuated my brain to save themselves. Henceforth, I am not responsible for any of my bad decisions.

I shake my head no.

Oh no, she's getting up. She's going to grab her wand and turn me into an artichoke –

Oh.

False alarm.

She's running around blocking her ears and humming the first couple of verses to a song by the Weird Sisters.

It's eleven-thirty on Christmas morning and I've been trying, and failing, for the past hour to persuade Mina to accompany me to Hogsmede today so that I don't completely flip out and murder James for enticing me to go. But, clearly, she's choosing to be a difficult berk.

She continues her stubborn march around the room, now positively shouting the lyrics to the song over my attempts to talk to her.

"Mina, would you just – "

"IT"S NOT JUST A SPELL," she belts out at the top of her lungs, her face red with the force of her singing, her eyes expanding with fright at the sound of my voice, "IT'S NOT A CHARM –"

Well, obviously I thought about not telling her about it, I'm not completely retarded. I was planning on not telling her until we had actually left the castle. I was going to lure her out with promises of icecream and girly talk.

This idea came to me after the twelve cups of coffee.

But the coffee-high died down, I decided I didn't want to die.

So, I decided against being murdered and left behind a dumpster around a random pub downtown. She would have torn my head off if we 'casually bumped into' Black and Potter in Three Broomsticks.

And thus, I get a songfest from her favorite band.

It's not even the fact that I have something to tell her, but honestly, these songs makes her sound like a dwarf on uppers. "Unicorns dancing in your eyes?" Oh, for crying out loud.

She slams her back against the wall and fixes me with a stern glare, her mouth still agape, singing.

Alright, it's time to bring out the reinforcements.

I conjure up a ball as big as her head and fling it across the room toward her. A slave to her excellent reflexes, he grabs it with both her hands, unplugging her ears in the process.

"YouhavetocomewithmetoHogsmede!" I blurt out before she realizes her blunder and re-covers her ears.

HA! Victory!!

Her face falling with the success of my excellent and absolutely ingenious ball-throwing plan, she frowns. "That was low." She declares scornfully, eyeing the ball as it rolls to the corner of the room. "So low."

"I know," I state, sympathetically nodding my head at her. "But you gave me no other choice."

"I will not go anywhere with that git," she rectifies with an air of finality.

I roll my eyes slightly though can't help grinning at my friend's feeble reply. "Technically speaking, you aren't going with him, you're –"

"Well we aren't technically speaking, are we?" she snaps back viciously. "I'm not changing my answer, Lily, there is no bleeding way I'll go!"

"But Mina – "

She growls, her eyes making into dangerous slits behind her dark loose fringe. "No buts! Don't you remember what he did to me? I'm not going!" I see her shaking; I'm not sure whether it's from nerves or general anger, but it does nothing to contribute to my attempts to reach an agreement.

I pout in a very convincing and what I'm told to be cute and charming manner. She asks me why I'm puckering up like a fish and I retract my lips and force them to a normal position. "Minaaa," I whine childishly, flapping my arms at my sides, "If you don't come, I'll be all alone!"

She scoffs, high-pitched and angry, and settles on the corner of her bed. "Serves you right!"

I sniffle faux-emotionally at her crossed arms and stern face.

She looks away.

I sniffle again.

She begins fiddling with the embroidery on her comforter.

I sigh, whine, and sniffle.

"What?" she snaps, her head turning around sharply. Her eyes narrow at my very, very sad and very, very, believable face expression. "You can't make me pity you and emotionalize! It won't work!"

Oh, you fool. This just goes to show how little she knows of me, and my great acting capabilities.

I'm tempted to burst forth with an evil cackle, but I'll keep it inside for the sake of my plan.

I shrug, defeated. But I'm not defeated. See the brilliance of my plan?

"Fine," I mutter. Another sniffle. Another shrug. "I'll go by myself." Dramatic, emphasizing pause. "All alone."

Her brow furrows as she stares up calculatingly at my Hollywood-worthy acting brilliance. "Lily Evans," she begins, "You are a terrible actress."

I scoff, offended, my genius plan foiled and abandoned. "Am not!"

"Are too!"

"I…oh…you…sod off!" I screech in a high pitched voice. "You're – you're a terrible singer, Miss Taylor!"

One of her eyes is bulging. "I happen to be an excellent singer!"

"Hah!" I shout, sounding extremely skeptical, if I do say so myself. "You sounded like a heedless banshee!"

She laughs shrilly, throwing her head back. "At least I didn't agree to go on a date with bloody James Potter!" She challenges, springing off the bed and advancing towards me.

Oho.

That is hitting far, far, far below the belt.

I'm feeling the sudden urge to clarify the reason for the trip of doom. "For your information, I didn't agree to a date – "

"Oh you didn't?" She asks unbelievingly, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back.

"No," I insist. "I didn't!"

She raises her eyebrows challengingly, "So what is this Hogsmede business, then?"

I'm feeling my face go red.

Alright, Lily, think this through. Why did you say yes to that moronic twerp that's been chasing you half your life?

1) Because I was intoxicated by the fumes in the Potions classroom.

2) Because his hair looked so goddamn good that day.

3) Because his writing was girly and I pitied the poor queer-bug.

You aren't thinking this through, are you? Mina's going to kill you.

1) AHA! Because I, for purely selfish reasons, want her and Black to stop running around in circles.

Wait, if I tell her that she'll actually kill me.

To be fair, though I love her, very, very much, she's starting to be a rather drag to hang around with; constantly murmuring under her breath murderously and avoiding Black like the plague. I've had to throw myself into the girls bathroom on the second floor on three different occasions to hide from Black and his people. I'm getting rather sick of the smell in there, not to mention Myrtle yells for Peeves to pelt dungbombs at me whenever she sees me. He's always happy to oblige, and she hates me ever since I accidentally flushed her into the Black Lake last spring.

Damage control, brain. Damage control. Avert dangerous question. Change focus.

"Honestly, Mina, it's just one afternoon," I mutter hastily, changing gears at light speed. "It's really not that big of a deal."

Who the hell am I kidding? This is the biggest deal of the biggest bloody deals.

Pleaaase take the bait, pleaaaseee.

"Oh, you didn't think it was that big of a deal?" She repeats shrilly, staring at me. She whirls around and screams, to no one in particular, "She didn't think it would be that big of a deal!"

"Alright, who are you talking to when you do that?"

She glares.

Oho, she glares.

"Why am I in this bloody program?! If you want to date the jerk, just do it alone!" She growls. "Black and I don't have to be involved! I don't want to spend any more time with that bleeding moron then I have to during common classes!"

"Mina, it's not that bad, I mean – "

"Not that bad?" She screeches her face livid, her hair wild and crackling crazily. I always knew that mass was dangerous. "I hate him! In fact, you're making me go somewhere with a bloke I hate so much I wish he'd get eaten by Cornish pixies!"

I pause, my brain momentarily floods with images of carnivorous Cornish pixies taking large bites out of Sirius Black. It's not much better than the level of hatred I associated with the spontaneous falling-offs of genital bits.

Snapping out of my very imaginative and disgusting imaginative reverie, "It's done!" I say desperately, opening my hands wide in helplessness.

"WELL," She says stubbornly, hesitating, "UN-DO IT, THEN! TAKE IT BACK!"

Honestly, the things that come out of this girls mouth sometimes…

"Stop acting so blonde!" I yell, annoyed.

She scoffs, high pitched and angry as she clutches at her hair and shoves it in my face to prove that it is, indeed, black. "I'm not acting blonde!"

"It's one afternoon, Mina!" she opens her mouth to argue but I continue. "And besides, I thought you were over him."

Her face goes frigid.

I seem to have hit a nerve. Ha. Ha ha ha.

"OHO! I am so over him!" She pauses. "In fact, there is nothing to get over because nothing ever happened!"

I'm having conniving thoughts.

"Alright, then go to this thing to prove how much you're over the thing that never happened."

In a rage, she screams, "FINE! MAYBE I WILL!"

"Good, then!"

She pauses, her face flooding with the realization of what she just agreed to do. "You don't play fair, Miss Evans."

Heheheee….

_.x.x.x._

_There was a cameo by James! I thought it was slightly necessary, because I wanted to show the Marauder's reactions to the date, and I couldn't thinkg of a better way to do it. It just didn't work through Lily's point of view. Not sure if i'll have him make an appearance again, we'll see. _

Anways, leave a review!!

Johnnydicaprio


	13. To Go, or Not To Go?

**Hello, there. It is updated. I know, I know...**_**finally. **_**I am **_**so**_** very sorry for not updating for ages, but I've just been crazy overwhelmed with work. But I just had a week of holiday, so I've had time. And up here the next chapter goes! I'll post the next one very soon, not to worry. It is almost complete. I promise...I think…**

**Anyway, enjoy!**

**And drop in a review to say hi! Have missed you all!**

**xx**

**johnnydicaprio**

* * *

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I don't care what _anybody_ says.

I don't care if Mina, half the girls' dormitory, or even the whole house repeats it.

Not that they would.

But that's beside the point.

And I'm getting to the point.

About this _date_, for lack of a better word, as Mina so kindly pointed it out. If I were talking, I'd spit that word particularly vehemently to express my hatred towards the adjective that is used to describe this…this…_treachery –_ yes, that's precisely what it should be called, and _no_ it is not too harsh, and shut up.

I did not agree to go on this thing on purpose.

I am not eager to go on it, I do not want to go on it, in fact, I think I'd rather eat a whole Gryndilow if it'll save me from going out anywhere with that plonker.

In fact, if someone pranced up to me right now, and declared that I could be freed from this excursion by agreeing to marry Slughorn, I think I'd just about do it.

Maybe. It would require some deep thought, but I'm inclined to believe Slughorn would win in the end.

I'd even go as far as marrying Filch.

Alright? Do you believe me now?

Am I being clear enough?

Yes. That's what I thought. I think it's the Filch comment that did it.

I have no idea what made me accept. Yes, the cat's out of the bag – not that there ever was a cat…or a bag – I _don't know_ why I said yes.

My brain was momentarily, and precisely at the worst moment possible – when a James Potter, having a particularly good hair-day asked me something he's asked me, oh, I don't know, a billion times – possessed by some alien creature unknown to man, and manipulated my thoughts and motor skills to say yes to someone I've said no to about three-hundred and forty-eight times.

Yes, I counted.

No, I am not crazy.

Yes, I know you're disinclined to believe that, but witness me ignoring you.

The fact is, I think someone is playing a very, very cruel joke on me. And I'm the only one not laughing, as it happens. I have the inkling feeling that someone is going to pounce at me from behind my wardrobe door and declare that it's April Fools and I'm only imagining that it's Christmas, and the whole ten feet of snow thing is just a figment of my imagination.

That, or I've been lying in a coma for the past seven years and that James Potter doesn't really exist. Or that he died in a tragic gardening accident.

Oh, a girl can dream.

Honestly, I think I've convinced everyone that I don't want to go. If James were here, I could put up a fair argument against him as well.

Not that I ever would.

Because that would be rude.

And I'm head girl.

And head-girls are never rude.

Unless they are in a queue and need special treatment.

"GET OUT OF MY WAY, OR I'LL EXPELL YOU ALL!" – Seems to work quite well at moments when I need to get somewhere in a hurry. For example, racing for the morning plain bagel.

Not that I ever said that to obtain bagels. That makes it sound like I am drunk with power. Which I am not.

Moving on.

I've never really realized that dressing oneself could be so time-consuming. Because I've never really _had_ to dress myself.

That doesn't mean that my mum dresses me every morning or I walk around starkers. Hogwart's has uniforms. Skirt, shirt, robes, head-girl badge, the whole shebang. So, I have never really felt the need to pay particular attention to what clothes I put on my back.

But blast James Potter to hell, I'm going on an…_outing_…with him, and now I spectacularly need the ability to pick out matching clothes, and matching shoes, and matching everything…and this is expected from a girl who has difficulty picking out matching socks.

I thought this was supposed to be an innate trait for girls. Like maternal instincts, they're supposed to kick in whenever you have real need of it.

Apparently, it's not.

Or maybe, there's something wrong with me.

Which is something I've suspected for a very long time.

BOOM – and magically you are able to put together a spectacularly splendiferous outfit that you look absolutely spiffing in. And unfortunately, there is no textbook I can study and memorize to get better at this. I'll just have to accept that I'll be badly dressed my entire life. If it had _anything_ to do with actual magical skill, I'd excel at it. Of course. Life is unfair, indeed.

Besides, it's like half of my bloody clothes have disappeared. I am not kidding, or being overly-dramatic, but my trunk is half-empty.

This is an utter and complete disaster.

I mean, I know Myrtle hates me – the flushing was an _accident! _That girl can hold a grudge, let me tell you – and some of the ghosts are a little irked because I tell them off when they creep out little first years, but I don't deserve to be treated like this. I am a good person.

I WANT MY CLOTHES BACK! YOU HEAR ME?

I'm shaking my fist at nothing in particular. I think I've lost my brain completely now. I am threatening thin air. This isn't healthy.

And Peeves can't get in here…right?

Right.

Of course he can't.

I'm just being silly.

Silly, little, Lily, as Potter would say.

Eurgh.

I should just wear the first thing that I can get my hands on.

Yes.

No.

That's a Halloween costume. Unless I would like to go on this thing as Little Bo Peep.

And I do not.

Potter would probably follow me around as my sheep for the day, and I will not have that.

Aha. This'll do. No it won't. It's ghastly. Agh. It's like pink threw up on it. Or Petunia.

_Petunia…_

Oh, God. I've packed one of Petunia's shirts. Oh…there's going to hell to pay when I get back this summer. What a thing to look forward to, is it not?

What's worse, is that I've been staring at myself in the mirror for over two hours, in fact, I've been standing for so long, blood has pooled in my feet, and my brain isn't working properly. Which is probably why my reflection has two noses and four eyes.

Great. Now I have double vision. This day just keeps getting better and better.

Is it possible to want to avoid someone so much that I actually want to invent a Time-Turner that will turn time forwards? Is it magically possible? Because if it is, I demand one this instant.

I could fast forward through the day, and end up cozy in my bed with all my limbs attached, without Potter's blood on my hands. Or his lips on mine.

I think I'm going to be sick.

When I talked to Potter this morning – translation: when I marched up to him and demanded, "What exactly are you planning to do with me this afternoon?" To which, he of course allotted different and many disgusting connotations – he said 'dress casual.'

_Casual._

I can do casual. Yeah. Of course I can do casual. Since I am such a casual person, and I'm in such a casual place right now.

…What exactly _is_ casual? This is all mind games that I refuse to take part in. I will not have my brain condensed to jelly by the end of this, do you hear me? I can wear whatever I want. I will not be manipulated. My character is too strong.

I wonder if I look pretty today... - shut up, brain! I said _strong _character, not a slimy little pushover!

Then again, I still found myself spending nearly three hours getting ready for something that I apparently don't even want to go to in the first place. I am a rather peculiar person. Bordering on self-harming, I think.

I have never spent so much time preparing for anything – ever. I showered, primped and preened in the bathroom for an extremely unnecessary amount of time (who needs seven different hair products in their hair, anyway?!) under the disapproving and annoyed gaze of Mina, put on some make up, only to remove it and curse myself for trying too hard. I then kept a firm resolve, and stopped my hands and brain from performing any other kind of beautifying routines, because I don't want to go to this thing in the first place.

That's right.

And all of this "_not wanting to go_" attitude has led me to standing in my dressing gown, near tears, looking down at the different outfits I laid out on my bed.

Meanwhile, Mina, though she agreed, (well, not so much agreed, as I tricked her, but never mind that now,) did not fail to disappoint with her reaction, nonetheless. She swore, shouted, screamed bloody murder, took her anger out on the dorm furniture, and actually pelted several bottles of ink towards the boys dormitories, only to hit poor, unsuspecting Frank full in the face with a color changing one. He swallowed some too, upon the impact, and we had to haul him to the hospital wing when his entire body turned a rather peculiar mix of rainbow colors.

And although it was rather amusing for Tessa and I that a fully grown witch threw a tantrum like a six year old, it all got less funny when Mina went absolutely ballistic and burnt her bed down.

Seriously. Burnt, her _bed_. As in the thing she sleeps in every night.

It is now a pile of ashes next to my suitcase.

The new bed the house-elves brought up a minute ago is next to mine too. Great. If she flips out in the middle of the night, I'm in range of her wand and spell-casting ability.

I'm probably going to wake up tomorrow with an eggplant for a head.

Wonderful.

The girls had a fun time with it; Rosalie and Evangeline ran around the burning bed and chanted things in ridiculous languages while Mina grumbled on the side like a naughty kid who'd been sent to the corner for punishment because she burnt her bed down.

Which is exactly what she had done.

Alice joined the savage bed-fire dance in an annoyed kind of trance, rightfully so, in my opinion, as her boyfriend had just been turned into a sodding queer parade.

Poor Frank.

I chanced to look into our shared sitting room after the bed-fire incident, to find that our couch was no longer…a _couch _per say…but more of a pile of stuffing and chicken feathers - obviously, she and her wand had been 'venting.' To be frank, it was taking vandalism to the extreme. Shreds of the couch lay across the little sitting room, along with bits of the futon and quilts, pieces of a fuzzy, Muppet-skin rug, and the crushed remains of a side lamp. And something that looked a lot like pieces of parchment and maybe pillows? I wasn't very sure.

Not to mention the ickle first years shaking in their boots. It looked like someone had thrown a hand grenade into the middle of a teddy-bear party and the only survivors had had their fur blown off.

But since then, I think she's quieted down and began dressing. Thank God. I'm sure the common room furniture feels grateful too.

Not that I'm much better.

I'd been pulling off the thirtieth shirt I'd tried on this morning when Tessa walked into the room and declared that I was overdoing it. She ordered me to drop the shirt and approached like the police, with her hands up in the air, a strained sort of smile on her face. The rest of the girls filed in behind her, smiling gravely at me, wearing an expression I associated with visiting the mentally deranged.

I probably looked the part, anyway.

"_Lily,"_ Tessa had said, sitting down and stroking my arm, smiling sympathetically. _"Just relax and pick something."_

_That's_ when I'd gone completely berserk and thrown out everything from my trunk into the middle of the room and crumbled to a sobbing, pathetic version of myself, wailing that someone had taken my clothes. I didn't stop wailing for a very long time.

They all looked at me funny. And without so much as a 'see you later,' or 'don't hurt yourself,' or 'good luck,' they patted my shoulder with guarded sympathy and left the room, eyeing me as if I belonged in an asylum.

Which I probably do.

And that's how I ended up here, alone, because my friends now think I've gone batty and refuse to associate with me any longer. I have become a social outcast and a head case because of stupid bloody Potter! Though I'm quite certain Mina's in the adjoining room picking out something to wear, just as – if not more – whacked out than I am.

I pick up a salmon colored blouse, and eye it with caution, slipping my arms through the holes and checking my reflection in the mirror.

Great. I look like a giant fluffy cloud. And not in a good way.

I rip the shirt off and fling it into the reject pile that's steadily growing in the corner of the room.

It's been three hours, and I haven't even gotten to the pants yet.

Ugh.

Hm. This could look good, I suppose.

I thrust my arms through a new t-shirt I bought at an old vintage store last year.

Scratch that, it makes me look like a disco ball. I should never be allowed to do my own shopping. Glitter should be outlawed in fashion. There's a reason the sixties are behind us. Merlin.

I then pick up a navy blue, button down V-neck that my mother bought for me last Christmas. I think I vaguely remember looking acceptable in it.

Yeah. This is _acceptable_.

"Hello," I tell my reflection in the mirror, pulling a face at it. "I am an enormous slut. Nice to meet you." The girl in the mirror blinks back at me, her eyebrows raised.

I groan and off goes the shirt, flying to the corner of the room.

"You know, I think we've both gone crazy. You're talking to a bloody mirror, and I just screamed my head off at a second-year because she was eating too loudly."

I wheel around to see Mina, her face drawn and tired, her hair sticking up everywhere, as she plops herself down on her bed. She's wearing a very pretty cream colored pair of pants with a dark purple shirt. Everything looks good except her general head-and-face-area.

Oh, of _course_, everyone besides me has something to wear.

Mina has no weird stalker ghosts that enjoy playing pranks on her.

"Tired?" I question, cocking an eyebrow curiously.

"Yeah…" she says, laughing tiredly. "Destroying an entire dorm really takes it out of you."

I snicker, glancing up at her bizarre hair-do. "I can see that. Oh, by the way, all the girls think we've both gone daft, just so you know. I wouldn't be surprised if they were filling out paperwork to get us into the mental ward in St. Mungo's," I add nonchalantly, flinging a couple of more tops onto the floor.

She gives an indifferent shrug. "It was to be expected. At least we won't get in anyone's way. In St. Mungo's, and all that."

"Or murder anyone," I add dully, flicking dust off my robes with my finger.

"I wouldn't be too sure of that," she grumbles quietly, her eyes narrowing.

Groaning, I plop myself face forward into my clothes in desperation just then, hoping that some kind of inspiration will hit me and I will magically have to ability to dress myself. I can no longer hear or see anything Mina's saying or doing. Until –

"Whoa," she exclaims curiously. Her bed groans as she jumps to her feet. Probably, that is. I still can't see anything but a jumble of un-matched colors. "What's with the new bed?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did you want the burnt one?" I ask sarcastically, my attempt at humor lost in the depths of my clothes that I have nose-dived into.

I can almost hear her rolling eyes. "Ha-ha. Who brought the new one?"

"The house-elves," I mumble, but I don't think it's even close to being comprehensible as I have a maroon blouse in my mouth.

"Oh," She sighs, and I hear a series of sharp cracks, like she's stretching her arms over her head. "I wonder if McGonagall knows."

I shrug, but instead of my body moving, my legs bob up and down at the edge of the bed. It'll have to do. I can't bother to sit up and shrug properly. My body has collapsed in on itself due to excessive stress.

"Wouldn't be too worried," I garble incomprehensibly, a stray button digging into my left eye socket. "Risa just told me that Dumbledore did the same thing back in his fifth year."

"Dumbledore got set up on a terrible date by his supposedly best friend and then burnt down his bed because he went crazy?" She asks, her tone light and sarcastically interested.

"Erm…no," I clarify, cringing into the blouse squashed into my face. "He just burnt down his bed."

"I see." She pauses. "Whosharisa?"

I think I have a shoe in my ear.

"Heh?"

"Whose Risa?" Her tone's slightly irritated now.

I lift my head up momentarily. "Oh," I say, mildly responsive. My head plops back down. "A house-elf."

"Interesting."

"Mm-hm," I grunt in response into my favorite blue vest.

"Do you know why?"

"Do I know why, what?"

"Why ol' Gandalf burnt down his bed?"

I struggle to remember the rest of the story Risa told me. It isn't very easy. She's a very accident-prone and excitable elf. I don't understand what she says half the time.

"Mmmh…" I grumble, scratching the back of my neck in irritation. My legs rest on the edge of the bed uncomfortably; I can feel the edges of the wood dig into my shins, but I can't muster up the necessary strength to pull myself into a sitting position.

"She said that it was the only bed they had to replace 'till now. He set fire his curtains and it ate up the whole bed," I say instead, shifting my legs so that my shins don't start bleeding.

"Hm," She says, sounding disappointed. "So no date, eh?"

"Nope."

"Wow…," she murmurs, her tone mollified. "Y'know, it's kind of bizarre imagining Dumbledore as a kid…like imagining a smart Black or a small-headed Potter."

Unable to imagine a small-headed Potter for the life of me, "Hmphgh," I grunt instead. Her musings about Dumbledore's childhood and love life quiets as I throw a mini fit, my legs and arms flailing about, my bed groaning under my fidgeting form. I continue flinging myself about for a while, my face still pressed into my mattress. My freak-out ends with another grumble, my limbs falling dead to my side with hopelessness.

"Having trouble?" She asks in a voice of suppressed calm. I can almost hear the smug smile in her voice.

"Yes, Thanks Sherlock," I grunt, throwing my arm to the other side of the bed and turning my body upwards to see her watching me with amusement. I fling a pillow at her but she catches it and wedges it between her head and the bed-post, continuing to look at me with an innocent expression. I pull my quilt over my face and groan. "Help me," I whine pitifully.

"Can't the lady find naught to wear?"

"No."

She sighs knowingly, getting up and fixing a wise but comical expression on her face. "So," she says in a booming, authorative voice. "You want my help now, eh, wench?"

I pull the quilt down to stare at her weirdly. "Excuse me?"

She groans and slaps her forehead apologetically. "I've been reading the Troll Diaries for too long. I'm very 18th century right now."

"Oh."

"Yeah," she says grimly. "I just screamed at someone and told them to fight me like a man." Shaking her head, she points to something next to me that I can't see. "Why don't you just wear that?"

I battle the quilt to get it out of my face so I can see what she's pointing at. "Wear _what_, exactly?" I demand, looking wildly around the room. She's pointing at my jeans and a dark green tank top that I hadn't even bothered trying on because I was sure would look hideous. "No," I state with an air of finality, retreating back under the protective cocoon of my quilt.

"Why the hell not?"

"Because it's ghastly," I say, my voice garbled.

"This then," she suggests, throwing something on me.

I barely take a peek at it. "No."

"Methinks, the lady doth protest too much," she says in a sing-song voice. I sometimes forget she's a muggleborn; she acts like she's been raised a witch her entire life. I doubt many people in school know her parents are muggles.

"Methinks," I retort through gritted teeth, "the lady should leave this lady in peace." I look up. "Also," I add, "I think you're misquoting."

"Maybe," she shrugs, flashing a toothy grin and flipping her hair over her shoulder with an air of pomposity. "But it sounds more eloquent."

"Yes, but it is wrong."

"What's your point, lady?" She demands.

"My point is, that it is incorrect, Hamlet."

"Urgh! Fine," She declares defiantly, "How about you just go naked, then."

"Ha-ha," I mutter, rolling my eyes. "So very funny, William Shakespeare."

"No, no," Her voice turns solemn, and she looks down at me very serious now. "Seriously, Potter would have an cardiac arrest and we wouldn't have to go to Hogesmede."

"As much as I'd like Potter to die a painful death," I say sadly, "I'd rather not freeze to death myself while triggering it."

She nods thoughtfully. "Indeed, to freeze or not to freeze, that is the question, is it not?"

_-x-x-x-x-_

"PADFOOT! Are you ready yet?" I emerge, flying from the bathroom, the place I have just spent the last three hours trying to do my hair. He's lying on a bed. My bed, to be exact. That doesn't bother me as much as the fact that he's lying on it in his underpants. Not dressed.

One can never be sure where Padfoot's underpants have been. And now they are resting comfortably on my bed sheets as if they own it.

Wonderful.

He idly turns the page of a book which I'm sure he's not even understanding as it's in Latin. Also, it's upside down. "I'm afraid not," He says serenely, sighing.

"Sirius," I say in a voice of forced calm. Though I'm violently slamming his head against a wall and killing him in my head. "Sirius, what in the world do you think you're doing?"

"I'm reading," he says sensibly, as it if it is _so _painfully obvious and I should be ashamed.

It _will_ be painfully obvious when I murder him in cold blood.

"You're reading?" I ask, my voice cracking with the sheer force of my pubescent rage.

"Yes."

"I see," I mutter. "And when will your highness get ready?"

He shrugs dismissively. "I dunno."

"You don't know. I see."

A second of silence trickles on by. He peers at me over his book, and taking in my - almost certainly - homicidal appearance, cringes and goes back to reading. Assuming he can read in Latin upside down, of course.

"You're coming though, right?" I ask finally, my voice several octaves higher in the utter panic that is consuming my soul.

"Dunno," he mutters. "Maybe. Maybe, I'll just sit and read here a while."

"Sirius."

He doesn't reply.

"Mate?"

…

"OI, KNUCKLEHEAD!"

"What?"

"You've got to come," I state slowly. "You've got to come to Hogesmede with me."

He raises an eyebrow at my demand. "I've _got_ to? Who says I've _got_ to?"

"I do!"

"Uh-huh," he replies in a dull grunt.

"Sirius."

He says nothing.

"Sirius!"

Still nothing.

"YO!"

"WHAT?"

"PLEASE!"

We're in the middle of our dormitory; I'm on my knees on the hearth, my hands clasped together and near tears, as Sirius just sits there on his bed, looking unaffected by the tragic demise of his friend. Remus and Peter are eating dinner. So, really, this is the opportune moment for Padfoot to betray me completely.

He grunts and turns another page. He looks utterly evil and conniving in his underpants. If he were stroking his imaginary moustache and cackling to himself, I'd say he'd make a great movie villain.

But he's Padfoot, and he's got no beard to stroke, so he will put his pants on and help me.

Damn it, he will! Now…_where are his pants?_

"I told you I wasn't going."

Crap.

"But…but…but…" I splutter, "BUT YOU'VE GOT TO!" I shriek hysterically, shuffling forward on my knees. "Sirius, you HAVE TO! Lily won't go if Taylor's not there, and you've got to come with me so that if they join together to kill me, you'll have my back!"

He's sitting in his boxers and an undershirt, looking very unruffled. I, on the other hand, am fully dressed, hair done, face done, except that bloody tie that I can't tie. And who wears ties anymore, anyway?

"Where are your pants? Where are your PANTS?!" I demand, getting up now, my temper flaring. I go on a hopeless crusade around the room to locate his clothes. "PUT ON SOME BLOODY PANTS!"

"Nope," he replies calmly, examining his fingernails.

"I'm ready to go, and you haven't got any pants on! Get up!" I spit at him in disgust. "GET UP!"

"Now, now," Sirius reprimands, shaking a finger at me over his book. "Be careful not to hurt my fragile feelings. I might just breakdown and cry."

"Padfoot," my voice breaks half-word as I slump against the dresser I've been emptying to find his garments. It is painfully obvious that _I _will be the one breaking down and crying at this point. "Padfoot, _please._ How many years have I been chasing this girl? Do you want me to lose my mind?!"

Though it appears as though I already have.

He half-shrugs. "You didn't ask me when you set up this date."

"You're a marauder!" I bellow finally, advancing towards the bed. "You need to help a fellow Marauder in need! It's in the CODE!"

"I disagree," he remarks calmly, looking up at me as if I'm only mildly interesting. "If you recall, we added a new clause to the marauder code when Lily burnt all of our eyebrows off in fifth year."

"No, we didn't," I reply quickly.

"We all looked like aliens…" Sirius prompts, a knowing smile on his face.

"No, we didn't."

"Yes, we did," he grins, seeing the expression on my face. "I can tell from your face that you remember exactly what it was."

"No, I don't."

He takes a deep breath, and starts recounting in an official tone. "Marauder Code: Clause eighty-four."

Oh, no.

"A fellow Marauder is required to have the back of another Marauder, if, and only if, it is not conflicting with the first clause." He smiles at me inanely. "Do you remember what the first clause is, Prongsie?"

"No."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't."

"I'll tell you then," he smiles like he's being helpful, but in all actuality he is ruining my teenage life. "Marauder Code: Clause One; All Marauders, future and present, are required to preserve their health, both mental and physical."

I snort and try to be nonchalant about it, but it isn't working. My world is crumbling around me. I would not be surprised if my mother burst in at this moment and declared I was adopted. It would be fitting. And it would just put the cherry on top in the catastrophe that is my adolescent life.

"What's your point, Padfoot?"

"Well," he says slowly, "This trip is damaging to my mental health. And possibly physical too. So, I don't have to go, according to the _code_," he says evilly.

Oh, he deserves to be destroyed. Instead of doing what must be done, however, -

"You're Padfoot!" I declare, grabbing at his shirt and shaking it in front of his face. "Hang the code! They're more like guidelines, anyway!"

"Nope," he tutts, "I am a devoted Marauder. I shan't disobey thine rules."

My eyes narrow. "I'll do your homework for a week."

"Nope."

"I'll wash your clothes for two?"

"Nope."

"Get you breakfast for – "

"Nope."

"Make you –"

"Nope."

"Give you – "

"Nope."

"Sing you – "

"Nope."

"Bake you - "

"Nope."

I pause, weighing the prospect of going out with Lily in the face of preserving my manliness within the Marauders. I look at his face, and he looks like dinner's come early.

Oh, damn it all to hell.

"I won't talk about Lily for a month."

As soon as the words escape my mouth, I know they've worked.

"Deal."

* * *

_.x.x.x._

_Review, or not to review, that is the question. Thou shalt review, yes?_

_Please?_

_xx_

_Johnnydicaprio_


	14. The SevenYears Butt War

Look what we have here! I'm back! I'm alive! I've updated! Oh my God! I could apologize and say sorry, but truthfully there is no excuse why I haven't updated in…well….five months. I'd say its because of work stuff and studio time, but you probably don't want to hear about that and just get on with it.

If you stuck with me over these last five months where I've been a total disappointment, here is your reward!

Please enjoy this chapter, I have no idea when I'll get cracking on the next one, and I won't make promises I can't keep. Exams are coming up. But I'll certainly try!

Johnnydicaprio xx

Note: Brief recap, last chapter they were just about ready to go on their date. Well, here is the beginning of that catastrophe. _Enjoy!_

* * *

I want to kill myself.

Yes, how very melodramatic, I know.

But I'm not overreacting.

I should have just hurled myself off the Astronomy Tower when I had the chance. I would have been plummeting to my death in peace right now, accompanied by angels and nymphs and fluffy girly things that I absolutely loathe instead of being in this incredibly compromising situation with a stupid stuck-up berk for a date – I mean, accompaniment…person.

And the fact that I agreed to this thing…the fact that I would sink so low…the fact that my…date…is James Potter…just…_makes my head explode. _

And let me tell you, my head does _not_ explode easily.

Instead, as life would have it, I'm practically _trapped_ in the Great Hall, waiting for a bunch of plonkers, with a girl-friend I cannot complain and whine to because I forced her to come with me and she might flip out and decapitate me.

I'm behind a suit of armor, under the impression that if I can't see her, she can't see me, and if she can't see me, she can't kill me. I'm right. I am right, right? Am I right?

Right. And anyway, if she resorts to physical violence, since I'm not in the range of her wand, I can take her. Absolutely. She's tiny.

I'm not frightened of a midget. I'm not. Honestly.

…

I'm completely, utterly, and one-hundred percent stupid. That's what I am. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Socially retarded. I think so.

But to be fair, I should applaud Mina as she hasn't yet gone crazy and left the hall announcing that she'd rather die than be here. Or that she'd rather face ridicule from me. I think murdering our couch has diminished her anger and frustration.

She's prodding at her foot with her wand and it's making hissing sounds, marking black singed dots all over her shoe.

So, then again, maybe not.

I neverthought I'd feel sorry for a _shoe_.

I have to blame someone for this.

Someone.

Someone that I can blame, and get away with it. Someone…

I got it.

You know whose fault this is?

Get ready, because you won't see it coming.

This one is a shocker.

Mankind.

More precisely, the male race. Them with their shiny hair and distracting eyes and…and...His…their…captivating smiles and his charming personality…and…and…his manipulative words…and his gorgeous –

Ahem.

I hate men.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not this insane feminist…let's-burn-our-bras kind of person, but _honestly_. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't blame that moronic nincompoop for this.

See? You've got nothing.

Following this logic, I am allowed to hate the male race because of James Potter.

Ugh.

I hate waiting.

Where, in the history of the world, has a woman, ever waited for a man? I demand to know. Where? I don't know where. Perhaps because a situation fitting the description does not exist.

And I would know. I got an _A _on history in elementary school.

While the stupid brainless little twat is up there drinking tea and nibbling on scones for all I know, and doing _God only knows what_, I am sitting here, on the freezing cold marble floor, my arse an icecube, waiting for him, who should, ideally, be waiting for me as I got dressed and changed my outfit fifteen thousand times, asked him if I looked good, then chucked him out of a nearby window if he took too long to answer.

But, no. James Potter is a prick, and I'm waiting for him.

I am waiting for _the_ prick.

What does that say about me, I wonder?

I defended my rights, too. Seriously, I did.

In fact, it's been exactly twenty three minutes since I banged on his door and demanded that he come out because we should be leaving since the sooner we leave the sooner we get back which is something I've always heard but never really believed in. It's been twenty one minutes since he assured me he will meet me in the great hall.

Those two minutes in the middle were not spent staring at him.

No, siree.

And I didn't drool a bit either because he was less than dressed, and toothpaste was dribbling onto his chest.

I'm going slightly bonkers. Because I am not the type of girl who will wait in freezing cold halls for slimy, manipulative, pathetic, utterly conniving boys who trick other girls to going on dates with themselves.

In the absence of productive things to do, I've fiddled with the thread hanging off my shirt for so long, I feel like the whole thing is going to unwind and I'm going to end up stark-naked in the middle of the hall.

That's what I've been doing for the past – oh – fourteen minutes now. It should unravel anytime now. Knowing my luck, it will happen right as Potter enters the hall. That would just put the cherry on top and the icing on the cake.

Oh, happy day.

For the last seven minutes, Mina's been perched on the steps of the marble staircase, her hair askew and her head in her hands. I would feel sorry for her, but I don't. Because feeling sorry for Mina is pretty low on my list of priorities right now.

As a matter of fact, it is right under the two most important tasks.

One: Kill Potter with machete. *

Two: Kill Self. Preferably not with same machete.

*side note: inflict as much pain as possible while doing so.

Three: Feel sorry for living things.

And due to the fact that, if, and when, I accomplish said tasks, I will be unavailable and unable to deal with the rest of the proceedings on the list, feeling sorry for Mina is inadressable at the moment.

In my extreme levels of boredom, I've achieved great many of things, besides keeping a frighteningly accurate measure on the time elapsed.

During this time, I have counted every single painting in the great hall (two-hundred-and-forty-seven for future reference), have tried to translate the Latin phases adorning the borders of the four house flags (I think its something about giving potatoes and tea to someone who is ticklish and has dragon pox - then again, it's our school motto, which explains so much), and I've mentally beheaded every single suit of armor imagining they are Potter-big-headed boy.

No, I am not a sociopath. I have no clue why you'd get that impression of me.

"COME ON!"

About bleeding time.

"MOVE YOUR ARSE, PADFOOT!"

I think it's time to come out from behind my protective guardian. Ah, he was such a great, silent companion. As all men should be, but are not.

"I SAID, MOVE IT YOU MORK!"

At long last. I see a whiff of black hair disappearing behind the banisters of the first flight of stairs, accompanied by hurried, if not speeding footsteps.

"Keep your hairnet on, you pansy. Your sweetheart can wait a little longer."

Oh, Black. You _really _want me to kill you, don't you?

It sounds like James's skipping fourteen steps at a time. I'd be worried that he's going to fall and break his stupid head, but I'm not.

'I'm not,' a lot of things today.

James comes flying down the final couple of stairs, jumps over Mina's head, though she doesn't even register, and comes to a skidding halt in front of me, still battling with his tie. Black walks leisurely down the stairs, looking graceful and unconcerned.

Damn him for his secret ability to look unruffled no matter what the situation.

"You're sixteen minutes late," I comment coolly, turning towards James and eyeing him as he tries to avoid smothering himself with his tie.

I am not rooting for the tie. That would be terribly mean.

And I'm nice.

So when he doesn't look up and is still struggling putting on the stupid thing, I merely roll my eyes at his pathetic-ness and don't point and laugh my head off at his stupidity like I usually would. We'll be here all bloody morning if someone doesn't step in between Potter and the tie.

"Give it here, I'll do it."

His head snaps up, and he looks as if I just spoke Mermish. "Sorry?"

Hm. I think it was the direct order that confused him. Who'd have known? Dogs and Potter have something in common.

I sigh, holding my hand out expectantly. "Give me the tie, Potter."

He jumps into explanation, trying to shove the tie into his pocket. "I don't actually want to wear it – "

I snatch the tie from him and toss it around his neck, paying no attention to his protests that he is a man and can do it himself.

Oh, for the love of God. My fingers just grazed the side of his neck and he went all rigid and tense on me. Honestly, it's not like I'm going to murder him or something. Really. I'm not. He mustn't be so edgy all the time.

Must. Control. Grasping. Fingers.

He's not dead. I have perfect self-control.

Hah.

James tries to break free form my hold, shaking his head side to side, his tongue lolling out like a mad dog.

In my peripheral vision, I see Black peek at us, his mouth agape as if he's going to say something. Sighing in a long-suffering sort of way, he swallows his words and stares wistfully at the tie. I'm sensing there is a back-story here that I'm not fully aware of.

"There," I mutter, stepping back a little flushed, cocking my head to the side and admiring my tie work after a moment. "All done."

"Oh, isn't that nice?" Mina's monotonous grumble echoes in the empty great hall. "You guys are like a married couple."

I send her the death glare but she fails to receive it because her head has once again taken up position in her lap. I want to chuck something (preferably very sharp or heavy) at her. Perhaps the machete I'm planning to find somewhere.

James, on the other hand, takes the comment in stride, straightens up and flashes me a brilliant smile. "Evans," he says, bowing his head impressively. "You look positively ravishing."

He's lying, that smarmy plonker. Because I really don't.

After the battle with Mina over the green blouse – yes, it was a battle, there was much hair pulling and eye gouging after which we took another two hours to re-primp ourselves so we'd look presentable for two people we loathe – I agreed to wear it, but we tugged on it so long, it's draping off me like a curtain. I look practically pregnant in it.

So really, Potter is a pathological liar.

Or he likes the fact I look pregnant. Or maybe he just hasn't noticed. I think this implies he sees no difference between me in clothes that make me look huge and clothes that hug my figure and make me look somewhat normal.

Wait a second…

"Are you calling me fat?!!"

"Oh, no, she's lost her marbles."

He looks horrified because I'm shaking my fist in his face and my nose his strangely close to his.

If I were in my right mind, I'd notice how close everything _else_ was, but I'm not, so I don't.

"What?! GOD NO! NEVER!"

"Good," I grunt, glowering at him. I put my fist down, though it takes great effort on my part not to punch his perfectly angular nose in.

He seems baffled. Honestly, I don't understand why. My thought processes are extremely easy to follow.

There is a tiny pause, during which time Potter stares at me in a horror-struck sort of way.

"So do you think we should – "

"You still think I'm fat, don't you?"

It's word vomit, I can't control it.

He looks me up and down. "No, I don't," he replies reasonably. "You look – "

"Oh, please – "

"You don't look fat – "

"You are _such_ a liar – "

"Oh, for the love of Merlin's saggy left – "

"Shut up, shut up, for the love of God, _shut up_!"

"Stuff it Black!" I command, and his eyes pop open at my direct order. He actually shuts up, grumpy and looking much like an anthropomorphized pufferfish. And an angry pufferfish, at that. Ignoring him, I round on James, my hands in the air in outrage. "_You_ think I'm fat!"

"I never said that!"

"You _looked_ at me!"

"What?"

"You looked, to check to see if I was – "

A long, draw-out whistle echoes behind me. "Ooh, mate. You looked?" Black is amused. Maybe I should kill him too. "You aren't supposed to look," he says smugly, voicing his expertise on how to treat women. "Just answer with a big 'NO!'"

"I did!" James protests, cocking his head to the side to see past me.

"You were too slow," Black states knowingly.

"That's not true!"

"Admit it, Potter," I shout, poking him in the chest and shifting to block his view, "You're a shallow, superficial, pathetic– "

He batters my hands away because I keep poking him. "I am not shallow, have you lost your blimmin' – "

"You most certainly are!"

"I'm not!"

"You are!"

"Listen to me, woman! You're not – "

"No, _you _listen to me –

"I think you're – "

"BOOBIES!"

There is an abrupt silence. Potter and I are nose to nose, our foreheads inches apart. My hands are up in the air in frustration, and we're both breathing like we've just run a marathon.

On the other hand, Black has just screamed out "boobies."

Potter looks at me once, his eyebrows raised and turns to his friend, puzzled. "Boobies, Padfoot?"

"It shut you up," Black remarks, scratching his chin intellectually and looking out of the nearby window with a glazed over, pensive look in his eyes. "The screaming out of inappropriate, irrelevant things during arguments effectively ends said arguments." He nods to himself, continuing said scratching of his chin, and smiles as if he's proven something. "It is a sad," – he makes a sad face – "But scientific fact."

I think the boy has lost the remainder of his dwindling intelligence.

"It was a toss up between 'boobies' and 'look at my nob!'" he continues, as if the topic of conversation is neither bizarre nor carrying far too many sexual undertones. He's either impeccably ignorant or mind-blowingly stupid. I'm betting on both. "I choose 'boobies.'," he continues, still in the same, detached, thoughtful voice, "I think it was a good call."

There is a small pause, during which we all stare at him, and he pretends not to notice.

"I would ask how _old_ you are, but then again, I'm not sure you can count that high," Mina comments finally, her tone a split between pity and disgusted fascination.

"Hardi-har-har," Black deadpans, snapping out of his floaty voice and catching her eye. They stare at each other equally coldly, and it's hard to say which face holds more contempt. Honestly, how two people can go from snogging to screaming, I'll never know for the life of me.

I think I should scream at Potter some more.

"Well," Mina says, after a moment of silence before I can act on my instinct and slap Potter to death for calling me fat, "I'd say it's nice to see you, but we'd both know I'm lying."

"Oh, it hurts," Black drawls in instant reply, clutching his heart sarcastically and stumbling back a few steps. He proceeds to sit down next to her and lounges across the top of the stairs. She crinkles her nose and frowns at him, watching him with disturbed interest – the same interest that keeps people watching car-crashes and circus freaks, and gnomes running around waving their bottoms.

Black rolls his eyes, turning on his elbow to look at her. "_What _are you staring at?" he growls bluntly, his eyebrows shooting up in annoyance.

She scoffs distastefully, and raises her eyebrows. "Not much."

"Mature, Taylor."

"That really hurts coming from you, I must say."

Amused by this spectacle, I turn my head back around to find James still looking at me as if I've offended him by insinuating that he would ever offend me. Alright, maybe he doesn't think I look fat. Maybe he's staring at me like I'm an insane person.

Maybe that makes this more awkward.

It's not my fault my family is…large. Except Petunia. It's all in my genes, and I'm paranoid. Sue me.

I open my mouth to apologize but –

"YOU DON'T LOOK FAT, OKAY? YOU DON'T LOOK FAT! JUST PLEASE DON'T HURT ME!"

Oh. He's barricaded himself behind his arms, his eyes scrunched shut, his body braced for assault.

This should embarrass me, but I'm all maxed out.

"I wasn't going to yell at you," I say slowly, approaching him. His head tentatively emerges from beneath his arms, his eyes wide in terror. "I'm sorry."

A small "Nngh" escapes from his lips, and then his eyes turn blank. He looks empty. Paralyzed, and what not. I think it was my apology that did it.

"James?" I wave a hand in front of his face. He stares right though it. I'm kind of worried about him. "Helloo?"

"Uhm…I…uhm…"

"Are you going to form words anytime soon, mate?" Black wonders aloud lazily. "Or should we just wait around here 'till we're old and wrinkly?"

James doesn't answer back with a snarky comment like we all expect, and instead continues to ogle at absolutely nothing in particular.

"Prongs?" Black prompts, sarcasm leaving his voice and worry seeping into his tone. "Mate?" He gets up from his seat, observes James, receives no reaction still, and rounds on me reproachfully. "You!" he points, his eyes widening in horror. "You broke my friend!"

"What?!" I shout, taken aback. "I did what?!"

One of his eyes is bulging.

"You broke him!" He shouts, taking steps towards me. "You broke my friend!"

"All I did was apologize!"

"You _apologized _to him? Are you out of your mind?! I demand you fix him right now!"

Oh my God, I've just broken James Potter.

He's just staring into outer space! He's gone loony! I mean, I frequently wish the boy bodily harm, but I never intentionally wanted to harm his mentality! I'm a horrible, horrible person! Oh, my God!

"I don't know how!" I shriek, alarmed, and somewhat paralyzed in my spot. Black looks about ready to tear his own hair out. "What do I do?!"

"Ugh," I hear a grunt, and I'm pushed aside. "Move." Mina approaches James and wallops him, straight on, across the face.

James whirls around full circle, and falls flat on his arse.

"That should do it," Black stares in amazement.

o.o.o.o.o.o

This is a catastrophe. It's been ten minutes since we left the blimmin' castle and already Black and Mina are jumping at each other's throats. Truthfully though, I'd rather she break his neck than mine.

Their arguments aren't very intelligent, either. Constant complaints arise about breathing/walking/talking/ too loudly. Honestly, I'd never thought that two people could find so much to argue about. "Nyah nyah, you touched my elbow, nyah nyah, you're walking too slow, nyah nyah, you're getting snow on my skirt, nyah nyah, you exist – "

Ah. Whiny people can be so irritating.

Potter and I are getting along. Barely. I've had to stop myself from throwing my arms around his neck strangling him on three separate occasions, but I wasn't expecting anything else. In fact, I'm proud of my self-control.

Like I said, this is turning out to be a rather abnormal afternoon. Quite surreal in fact, I feel like I'm floating in space.

Hogesmede, on the other hand, lookes like it always does near Christmas; like a Hallmark card. The tattered shops and houses are all covered in more than a foot of snow, shaking alarmingly in the wind; there are holly wreaths on every door, and strings of enchanted candles line the street, which I barely stopped myself from running into and lighting my hair on fire, to which James laughed at and I almost killed him.

A couple of goats scuttled past us a while ago, some mad old hatter chasing after him with his wand and a walking stick. Oh, and a whole party of drunks stumbled by us as well – completely sloshed, of course – singing, 'Ogro the Hobo' and 'Flop Goes the Waste-bin' at the top of their voices.

I'm almost quite sure those aren't the correct lyrics.

Ah. How I've missed Hogesmede. It's just so incredibly home-y, and inviting and beautiful, and so much better than stupid frog-land and than Petunia's wedding would have been –

"So, am I supposed to believe," Potter abruptly continues, dragging me back from my very casual observing of Hogesmede pretending I wasn't aware of his existence, by quirking his eyebrow at me, "You've never, _once _checked out my butt?"

Oh, _that. _Well, see, I have a small problem.

Due to an unfortunate and entirely unforeseeable series of circumstances that had nothing whatsoever to do with me, I through absolutely no fault of my own, have told...James Potter that I found his hindquarters...a bit…somewhat…slightly…faintly…

Attractive.

He tricked me, honest. Word games, all of it. None of it my fault. It just sort of slipped out of my mouth when my brain wasn't watching.

Can you blame me, I have eyes! He has a very lovely arse! Another thing that is NOT MY FAULT.

And I have a mouth that refuses to follow my orders. That is a deathly combination, let me tell you.

"That's right," I state more confidently than I feel, staring straight ahead, blinking through the falling snow. "Not once."

"Psh," he spits obnoxiously. "Yeah, right." The laugh that follows would echo if Mina and Black weren't making so much Goddamn noise arguing.

I can't believe I did this.

I must kill him and eat the evidence.

It is the only way to escape this humiliation.

"You're _far_ too self-assured," I comment, my tone slightly reproachful though I'm absolutely petrified to look in his general direction. He doesn't hear me because there is a general outcry from behind us.

"YOU PATHETIC LITTLE MORON! DON'T TALK TO ME! EVERY STUPID WORD THAT COMES OUT OF YOUR STUPID MOUTH INSULTS MY BLOODY INTELLIGENCE!"

"I'm sorry," he cringes with a bored expression, sending a glare to the lovely lovers behind us. Black is now roaring with laughter and Mina has her arms crossed and her eyebrows are so low on her face I cannot see her eyes. I think she must be angry, or something.

"Couldn't catch that last bit."

"I said, you're far too self-assured."

"Oh, please," he bites back, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly, "Don't change the subject. You know you've looked."

This boy is strangely proud of his hindquarters. And 'tis definitely not a question of how justified he is in being so proud.

I narrow my eyes and glower at him accusingly. I think they are far too narrow because this is giving me a headache. Ow. "Are you fishing for compliments, Potter?"

He turns to me and puts on a rogue smile that I find not even _remotely_ appealing.

"Perhaps. But it's because you could find somuch to compliment me on," he declares, not at all modest, flicking his imaginary hair over his shoulder and batting his eyelashes at me.

"Well, if that's your most alluring look, with the eyelashes and the hair, I don't think you'll be receiving any from _me_ anytime soon," I retort, rolling my eyes at him. "Though I'm sure the male population of Hogwarts will welcome you back with open arms."

He makes a sound like a dying giraffe. I think I might have offended him.

"Are you insinuating that I'm a shirt-lifter?" he gasps, a hand over his heart in indignation, his face furrowed in shock.

"Sorry, that you're a what?"

"Y'know, a poofter? A fruit? A fart-knocker?"

"James – "

"A snickerdoodle? A poppy? A droo – "

"Thanks, I got it."

He glares expectantly at me.

"What?" I ask innocently.

He huffs and crosses his arms. "Well then, _are _you?"

"Excuse _me_," I stop walking, lean back, and cross my arms across my chest stubbornly. "Aren't _you_ insinuating that I'm a sexual predator who has nothing to do all day but stare at _your_ butt?"

He thinks about this as he absently stares into space.

For about a second.

"I guess I am."

I shrug, smiling smugly. "Well, then you have your answer."

I'm quite proud of how I maneuvered myself out of this situation. Perhaps I can spend the rest of the day in peace now, prancing around Hogesmede and bragging about how I outsmarted Potter's stupid mouth.

Oh, wait.

He's nudging me.

The wanktard is back.

"What?" I bleat, irritated.

Uh-oh. _Why, why, WHY _does he have to look so good when snow is falling around him? WHY? Mother Nature wants me to jump this boy's bones, I swear. Well, I will not have it! I deny! HAH!

I am a strong, confident woman, who will not be coerced into snogging James Potter!

Oh, nice comeback, mother nature. A gust of wind whapped my face and all of my hair got into my mouth.

I hate her.

You know what, scratch that. I _hate_ hogesmede. I hope it is demolished. Or blown up. Or infested with a party of rabid, carnivorous turtles.

Or something equally random and creative.

"I promise," James smirks, pointing behind him at the barely visible – not that I'm looking, it's in my line of vision – but very aesthetically pleasing bump of his jacket, "One look and you'll be putty."

My eyes narrow without my brain actually having to give out the order. "You're an insufferable prat, you know that?" My tone, without my consent, lightens slightly, and I'm suddenly aware that I'm smiling as I'm saying this.

"I know," he laughs, "I've been told quite often. It's very nice of you to not let me forget it, though." His smile spreads wider across his face when I don't reply and turn my head.

"Oh, come on." He nudges my shoulder, which almost sends me flying into a shop window before he grabs my arm and pulls me back around. I shake my hair out of my face just in time to see him pout, reminiscent of a puppy dog face, and for a second it hypnotizes me, but then I remember exactly who he is and that this is his area of expertise. With an extremely strong will, I get my arm out of his grasp and I turn my head away again.

His elbow is continuing the doing of weird things to my elbow.

Oh, lord give me strength.

"Stop it," I groan feebly.

Nudge.

"I said stop it."

Nudge, nudge.

"Liiilyyy…."

"Cut it out, or I swear, I'm screaming 'rape' at the next person I see."

"Alright, alright," he says, defensively pulling his hands up to his chest, a laugh rumbling in his voice. "Sorry."

Aha! I've won! He's stopped! My elbow is free! I'm a –

"Butt-watcher."

Rrrrrrrrrrrrggh. Oh – I – oh – argh – gaaaaaaaaaargggghhh. WHERE IS MY MACHETE?!

"Arrogant creeper."

"Oh?" he laughs, throwing his head back with much mockery, may I add, "Oh, I'm the creeper? Who stares at my butt the whole bloody day?"

"I don't know!" I huff, which comes out less like a huff and more like an outraged scream as I shake my arms around like I belong in the loony bin. "Not me!"

He snorts. Loudly, at that. "You lie. My butt is – "

"I don't care about your stupid butt!"

"But you – "

"Look," I reason, turning around and fixing a stare on him that makes him freeze mid-step. "If there was a butt to stare at, maybe I would enjoy taking a peek at it from time to time. But since you lack that said asset, I'd appreciate it if this discussion ended here because this argument is completely useless."

He looks appalled, and his mouth drops in indignation. "Excuse _me_! I have a butt!"

We have now stopped in the middle of the street, and are full on yelling at each other.

Yelling at each other, over his butt.

A brilliant way to celebrate Christmas. I'm sure Jesus would be proud.

"Uh-huh."

"Huh – Well – I – that's just – I," he splutters, trying to look as if there is a reason why words are even leaving his soap-ridden mouth. "What about _your butt?_"

I'm pretty sure that's a line he's just crossed.

I happen to know for a fact that my butt is of perfectly normal proportions. Okay, it's not gigantic, but it's not tiny either. At least I can walk upright without tilting to the front to keep my body weight in equilibrium with my arse.

"_What_ about my butt?" I ask calmly, but I'm pretty sure I'm about to shoot fire out of my nostrils.

"Well…it's…it's…" he gulps, his shifting eyes never resting on mine because my glare might well blind him, and I think he's gone slightly green and looks about ready to puke, "Um…welll…."

I raise my eyebrows, staring at him straight in the eye, in for the kill if he dare give the wrong answer. "Yes?"

He looks up and catches my glare. But takes this opportunity to act like a man and not run away like the little girl that he is. Damn. "It's…" he groans dejectedly, "It's perfect. Ugh."

"I can live with that," I shrug. I think I'm about to smile. Merlin, I'm smiling. Dang it. I am smiling. Crap. I think he's noticed. I'm getting worse at hiding this stuff. This might become a problem.

"So," he says eagerly, clearly delighted to have passed the point where I would have physically harmed him in some way, "I _do_ have a butt, right? I mean, you're taking back what you said? About me not having a butt? Right? Right?"

I'd call him paranoid, but…

I turn around, and fix an expression on my face, the 'I'd-never-hurt-a-fly' one I've practiced thousands of times. "_I_ said you didn't have a butt? Well, that doesn't sound like me."

He impatiently glares at me.

"Me?" I continue, faking outrage. "Insult your butt? Nay! Never!"

"Just answer the question Lily," he growls. "I have a butt, yes?"

"Oh," I state, hiding my smile behind my hand and continuing to walk down the snow-covered street, deliberately ignoring the people who are starting to stare. "They say persistence is the key to success."

He struggles to catch up to me and pokes his head over my shoulder. "So?"

"So," I turn and smile at him, "Keep telling yourself that, and maybe one day you just might grow one."

Sometimes, I love my brain.

Only sometimes though.

I think I left him behind to wallow in the fact that he lacks a butt – which he doesn't…regrettably. Oh, false alarm. He's scrambling to catch up to me. And people are _still _watching. I'm serious, they aren't even embarrassed!

They're leaning out of door-frames and sticking their heads out of windows. Some kid just pointed at us and ran off! He looked about five! And had a lollipop! God, we've become a public laughing stock for the mentally deranged.

I then proceeded to glare at some unfortunate third year student who was blatantly gaping at us. She shrieked and ran.

Have they no shame?! I CAN SEE YOU, YOU KNOW! The pointing and laughing is not very inconspicuous!

I should take this bench and throw it at them, I should.

I don't, though. It looks far too heavy and we've already passed by it.

Then again, I guess I can't blame them. We _are_ having a whole conversation concerning his hindquarters. And he's throwing a tantrum like a six year old girl.

"I'll prove it to you!" He declares, tugging on my sleeve. "I'll prove it to you right now!"

Oh, this ought to be fun.

"Please, go right ahead."

"Hem, hem," Black pokes his head in between us and looks at us curiously. Mina's on his left, looking positively revolted. "Excuse us for interrupting, but why is James about to pull his pants down in the middle of the street?"

When you have two people who fight constantly inquire as to your reasons for fighting, it means there is a problem.

Holding up his pants with one hand, James glares at his friend, poking a finger at his nose commandingly. "_You_ go back to your knitting! I have a bone to pick with her!"

I smile, as I am extremely amused, and fix my most challenging glare on him. "Bring. It. On."

He's about to pull down his pants and humiliate himself in front of the whole town when –

"Stop taking off your pants, Potter!" Mina hysterically cuts in, waving her arms around clamping her eyes shut frantically, and attempting to escape. Unfortunately, having blinded herself, she doesn't get very far in her journey and walks into Black.

"I don't think it's very sensible to walk around with your hands over your eyes, Taylor."

"Shove it, Black."

Meanwhile, James continues throwing a tantrum like a scorned teenage girl. "I have a butt, and I'll prove it!"

"Stop acting like a three year old!" Mina demands, her hands still partially shielding her eyes.

"NO!"

"STOP IT!"

"NO!"

"STOP IT!"

"YOU STOP IT!"

"Blaaaaack!" Mina shrieks, stomping her foot in protest and turning to him in outrage, "Tell your bloody friend to stop taking off his bloody pants!"

Black merely shrugs, smiling almost…proudly? "Discouraging the removal of clothes is against my religion."

Oh, ew.

"Listen to me, mister, your best friend is taking off his pants, in broad daylight, in _public_. You don't think this reflects badly on you?!"

"Me?" Black repeats with a squeak, his hand on his chest. "Are you daft? I'm barely stopping myself from cheering him on." He lets out a tiny, nostalgic sigh. "They grow up so fast. It feels like just yesterday he was – "

"For the love of God!" Mina shoves him as hard as she can, and he barely even stumbles. "Are your parents siblings or something?!"

Black looks at her, his face sincere, pensive. "No…I'm pretty sure they're cousins."

"Is he being serious?" she turns to James, who's struggling to remove his clothes.

James momentarily stops unbuttoning his pants and looks at her. "Yes." And then goes back to the removal of his garments.

She nods, sighing dejectedly. "Ah, that explains so much."

"Be off, the both of you!" James commands loudly now, turning to glare at me. "I have something to prove here!"

"Why?!" Mina demands, her terrified eyes fixed on his hands because he's about to pull his pants off. "Why are you doing this?!"

"To save my dignity! To prove my manliness! To give inspiration to all men who want to cower in the face of – "

And then it hits me.

He is taking off his pants.

James Potter, is removing his pants because of me.

Now, under normal circumstances, if it were, say, in a comfy dormitory, with candlelight, and perhaps a bit of music, and some kind of nice smell in the room, like musk, or the smell of his neck, maybe I would approach this situation differently, but -

"STOP IT, STOP IT, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, STOP IT!"

Wait a second, how do I know the smell of his neck?

"AHA! DO I HAVE AN ARSE?!"

Oh, sod it. "YES, YES, IT'S BEAUTIFUL, JUST PLEASE STOP!"

"IS IT PERFECTLY SHAPED?" he demands, a mad glint in his eye.

"YES! PERFECT! PERFECT! NOW WOULD YOU STOP PULLING OFF YOUR BLOODY PANTS?!"

"HOW PERFECT?" he prompts, his brow furrowed in anger.

"EXTREMELY. STATUESQUE! THE SPITTING IMAGE OF AN ADONIS!"

He just stops. Face goes black. Looks at me. Face changes. Smiling. Smugly.

Oh, bugger me.

I'm tempted to rip his face off now. Because I think I know what's coming.

He calmly collects himself. "HAH," he says. He pulls up his trousers, and at this point, I realize he hadn't even unbuttoned them. "Hah," he says again, straightening up. "I was bluffing. Knew you'd cave in."

Okay.

I.

Oh.

Gr.

Mhph.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!

"Hey look! Potter's being pummeled by a girl!"

"Ten sickles says she knocks him out in less than ten seconds."

"You're on."

I'm pretty sure I heard a very feminine "OH MY GOD SHES GOING TO KILL HIM" , and a small "Hah, I win, pay up," before everything went black.

Rage and all that, you know.

* * *

Wow, this was a monster of a chapter.

Well, I hope it was worth the wait, even though nothing is worth waiting for five months. Please review if you haven't forgotten me! I hope you liked it!

**Edit: **An anonymous reviewer has just pointed out that God is spelled with a capital 'g.' I cannot believe I have made this horrendous mistake. Thanks for the constructive criticism. Really. Truly, splendiferously happy that you pointed out this technicality. And glad you're enjoying the story. How I _love _anonymous reviews. Shame on everyone else for not pointing this out to me before.

Alright, I think I'm abusing sarcasm now, so will shut up.

Johnnydicaprio

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Look the blue button is right there!


	15. Oh, The Agony

Okay, to everyone that's still following/wondering what the hell happened to this story, I don't even know what to say to you guys, and I wouldn't be surprised if you sent a lynch mob after me or attacked me in my sleep. I haven't updated since, um...april, I think, and that's rather pathetic. Truth is, I kind of lost faith in myself and dropped fanfiction for a while, worked a lot on uni stuff, etc, etc, and my summer was so freaking busy, I don't even know where it went. Anyhow, I have this next chapter for you guys, I hope you still remember what was going on :)

johnnydicaprio

(wouldnt be surprised if I lost half of you along the way, but if you stuck with me, thank you, and you're awesome)

* * *

"_**Danger**__**: mouth operates faster than brain." **_

I'm really thinking of having that tattooed across my forehead. To avoid these little…kerfuffles I always seem to find myself in. Like attempting to remove my pants in public.

Yes. Yes, I will tattoo it in huge, block letters.

In block, pink, **bold** letters.

Or perhaps blue? I don't know. Pink might be too effeminate. Might give the wrong message. Lily might see it. Complications could arise.

And we wouldn't want that.

….Maybe it should be in black.

This is all _so_ confusing.

What on _earth _possessed me to talk about arses in a highly populated, wide-open space in the middle of Hogesmeade, and then progress to allow my fragile mind and body to be pummelled by the likes of Lily Evans?

I seem have trouble understanding the thought process of my own brain. Alarming, that _I'm_ even starting to notunderstand me.

I never thought I'd say this but Mum was right, I am a piss-ant.

I mean, the girl may _look _small to the untrained eye, but believe me her fists of fury are intact. I have the marks to prove it. She could kill Dumbledore with her thumb.

And then some.

"Ughhh…"

I have just concocted a theory. I think the reason behind the blinding pain in my body is because I have an invisible elephant sitting on my head.

Just lounging across my luscious hair.

Running through my God-given locks it as if they were a field of heather, its every (invisible) step digging into the soft tissue of my brain causing me unbearable pain. Maybe if I cross my eyes enough I could see it and hence be able to tell it to get the _fuck off of my face! _

"AAgh."

I may not be overly logical normally, but I think the elephant theory is the only logical explanation at this time.

"Uuuuf."

Logically, there is an invisible elephant sitting on the top of my head.

I am aware I sound mentally deranged. Possibly insane.

Let me explain.

I believe this is how it happened.

The moment I passed out from being straddled (it sounds fun, but it was _not _the fun kind of straddling), I think Lily might have used her special, God-given, heavenly powers to call upon the creatures of the earth to drop an invisible elephant from the sky, onto my beautiful, unsuspecting head.

My calculations predict that at this point, she might have proceeded to laugh maniacally at my expense as it stomped around my body and led to my demise.

She is an evil minx with the power to call upon invisible mammals to inflict pain on those who wish to take off their pants in public.

There's a sentence I never thought I'd say.

Anyway, all the evidence points to the fact that there is indeed an invisible elephant sitting atop my head. Because it doesn't make sense that this girl can be this strong.

Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm not a sexist pig who things men are stronger and burly and mustsave the day, or that we should all climb Snow White's hair, and save Repunzel from her Wonderland-what-not and fight dragons and evil things that don't exist in the muggle world while saving Cinderella from a beast and some girl called Jello from her evil stepsisters.

Before you ask, no, I am not drunk, and no, I did not make up these stories. Yes, they exist. Yes, Muggles are on crack.

(Thanks to Moony for filling my brain with useless muggle fairy-tales. Apparently they are supposed to be 'enlightening'. Sod off Moony, sod off. I could have been using the time to learn how to _actually _fight so that I could protect myself against invisible creatures!)

I was saying, I am not a sexist person. Suffice it to say that I've witnessed first hand what angry girls are capable of.

But come on, now. She's 5 foot 5. I'm 6 foot 2.

5 foot 5.

FIVE FEET I TELL YOU!

SHE IS AS TALL AS MY MUM'S BABY POODLE! AND A 6 FOOT 2 PERSON GETTING PUMMELLED BY A POODLE IS JUST AGAINST ALL LAWS OF PHYSICS.

Or so Moony told me. And Moony is never wrong. To say that would just completely upturn my life, and bring it crumbling around my head, so please refrain from doing so when I am so fragile-minded already.

Sigh. I am a disgrace to all man-kind.

"Ohghhg."

I'm worse than Peter.

"I cannot believe that just happened."

The same Peter that once willingly agreed to run around the corridors stark naked if Padfoot and I took him to one of Slughorn's meetings.

"My heaaaad…"

The same Peter that also got caught by McGonagall, and decided it would be prudent not to mention _sane_ if he blamed it on sleepwalking. Ah, Minnie was maaaadd...

"Did I just witness my best friend being straddled and beaten by a _girl? _Was that – was that real life, or am I in some strange, badly-made, dominatrix porno movie?"

"My nooooooseee…."

"Normally, I respect all pornography as an art form, but honestly, I could have lived a long, happy life without seeing _that_."

"My eye sockeeeeet…"

"Would you _stop _whingeing?! You're getting on my nerves!"

I glare at him, and the (invisible!) elephant on top of my head gives a painful tug on my hair in annoyance. Not that elephants have enough joint movement in their paws (feet, hands, legs?) to tug on things.

That's beside the point.

"I wasn't complaining when you were bouncing around like a poofter and declaring that Taylor tried to kill you with a bleeding chair," I blurt out before the elephant can stop me.

"Taylor _did _try to kill me with a chair!" He retorts hysterically, "You were there! You saw, stop denying it! And hey, at least I didn't get beat up by a girl like some wanky-pant!"

I feel my eyebrow shoot up, and the elephant does not particularly like my facial features moving. "A wanky-pant?"

"Yes," he sniffs, indignantly crossing his arms and sticking his nose in the air, "It's a valid word. Moony found it in a dictionary."

"Padfoot, did _you _write this dictionary?" I ask suspiciously.

"No," he replies, all too fast. "Why would I do that? I wouldn't do that. That, I wouldn't do." He catches my eye. "I _wouldn't._ Shut up. And _don't _change the subject!" he squeals, finger in the air, "You got slapped around by a _girl!_"

"Well then _you _are a "wanky-pant" too, sir, seeing as you would have gotten your arse kicked by Taylor in that common room had I not interfered! You just didn't follow the Marauder Code like me and help me out!"

"I was dealing with the situation perfectly fine before you showed up, thank you!"

"Yes, hiding behind desks and throwing insults at her were doing wonders!"

"As a matter of fact they were! It was all part of the plan! She _liked _me! WE SNOGGED!"

"Oh, I stand corrected," I mutter dryly, knocking my head against the table in agony, trying to forget the pain in the rest of my body. "I momentarily forgot that if you snog, you win. My apologies." I bow my head in defeat.

I'm willing his brain to sense the sarcasm in that sentence.

"Hmph," he snorts, looking down at me over his nose in a Snape-ish, snotty kind of way. If only he had oil dripping down his hair, he would have been the spitting image of that sewer rat.

"At least _we_ lasted a while," he spits snootily, "Which is more than I can say for you and Lily and that pathetic chocolate kiss at the beginning of the year."

I gasp, because I'm sure that's a line he's just crossed.

"How long did that last by the way, before Lily came to her senses? You kissed for a total of what, two seconds? That makes you about as experienced as my baby cousin," he deadpans, clapping twice, and smiling at me sweetly. "Congratulations, Prongs, extremely experienced boy of seventeen." Pity glimmers in his eye, and he smiles down at me. "That's what your gravestone will say. How sweet."

He's just twisting the knife right now. Am struggling not to head-butt him. The only reason I'm _not _is because the elephant will probably kill me.

Well, to the outside, I'd probably look I'm killing myself, since the elephant is of the…er, invisible nature.

Moving on.

We exchange glares for a few seconds.

"Would you go away?" I snap finally, hysterically waving my hand at him as if swatting away a fly, "Preferably on a holiday to the bottom of the lake with an anchor around your neck."

"Ha-ha," he sing-songs. "Comedian. You're just multi-talented aren't you?"

I glower at him. "This is all your fault anyway. You just couldn't stop me taking off my pants, could you, you incompetent mutt!" I feel a fist that I didn't know my hand formed coming down onto the table in anger.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry I did not forcibly pull your _pants_ back on. Apologies. Maybe we should include a 'Forced Dressing' clause in the Marauder Code."

"Well, maybe we should."

He pauses, and scratches his chin. "Actually, come to think of it, this date was _your _idea, so technically I am here by your invite, ergo _technically _it is entirely _your_ fault that we are hiding from two tiny girls as if they were devil incarnates."

He's evil.

On the other hand, he has just said 'ergo'. I have to terminate his relationship with Moony or before I know it he'll start saying 'hence' and doing homework. Perhaps I should get Moony to eat him and just solve the problem all together.

"Can't you just leave me alone?" I bleat, holding my head again and rubbing my temples in agitation.

"Oh sure," he says pointedly. "Just keep rubbing your head. That'll turn back time."

"Hardi-har-har."

"Find yourself a new gender, Prongs, because I'm revoking your bloke membership."

"Very funny. Real witty. Oh, my sides are splitting." I stare at him, my expression dead. "Now shut up."

"Oh, no, are you going to beat me up like you did Lily?" Sirius grasps at his hair and wails with wide eyes, "Oh, Merlin, I'm so afraid! Please someone save me!"

I'm silent, but wallop him across the head. The occupants of the Three Broomsticks (within which we hid in the moment Lily got off of me) turn around and glance at us because of his stupid voice.

"Pleeeeeaaase!" he screeches again, cackling like a mad hatter.

I try to give him the 'shut-up-or-you-wont-have-children' look, but it's not working I'm in too much pain. I try the verbal route again. "Are you incapable of keeping your bloody mouth shut?!"

"Yes."

"Big surprise," I snarl, narrowing my eyes, still cradling my bruised arm. I feel like what I'm cradling is my ego; wounded and bruised and beat up by tiny demon hands. "I _can _make you, you know."

"Psh," he spits, his eyebrows rising. "Yeah. Lily can vouch for that. I know you're just a killing machine. You scoundrel, you." He slaps me on my arm, his wrist limp.

"Shut your blimmin' face."

"I don't think we can be friends anymore, actually," he muses, "It's not good for my image."

"Your image?" I ask sarcastically. "What image?"

"See," he says calmly, joining his hands on the table in a Dumbledore-esque way and mocking me, "I happen to be extremely manly with rippling muscles and bulging biceps, and it just does not bode well for me to hang out with 17 year old boys who get beaten up by midgety girls."

"Not _girls,_" I correct bitterly through my teeth, "Just one _girl_."

He smiles tightly and shakes his head. "That's really not helping your case, dinkipoodle."

"…"

"Jamesie-poo? Are you _angry _at me?"

"Fuck off."

He cocks his head to the side, faux-sympathetically smiling at me. "How quaint. Bless."

Not to self, note to self, note to self: It's illegal to stab people for being annoying.

"You are such an adorable little man-child."

Killhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhimkillhim – shut up, brain.

I set my jaw. "I am so letting Moony loose on you tonight. Have fun battling a fully-morphed werewolf without me helping you."

No one said it was illegal to get _Moony_ to kill people for being stupid.

"Yes, because a _stag _is so useful whilst battling werewolves. You and your stupid unicorn head and good-for nothing _horns –_"

"STOP INSULTING ME!"

"Can't," he quips, letting out a bark/laugh. "Too much fun."

"…"

"Awh, is your ego wounded? How abouts we go have an ice cream sundae and make itty bitty Jamie feel better?"

"Don't call me that!"

"How abouts we go back up to the castle and I make you a nice cup of hot cocoa and have you sit in front of the fire and read you a bedtime story where the main character _doesn't _get the living daylights beat out of him by a _girl? _How about – "

"How about a nice cup of _shut the fuck up?_!"

"Now, now. You know I don't approve of such language. You are such a wet-blanket. Ruining my fun."

"…"

"Jamsie?"

"…"

"Oh, we aren't talking anymore? That's too bad."

"…"

"Well, I'm as content as a cucumber to wait until you're tongue is – Oh, look it's Lily! HI LILY! WE'RE OVER HERE, LILY!! LILY! LILY!!"

"WHERE?"

I grab my cheek and pull on it. No, I'm too awake for this to be a nightmare.

Crap.

Well, this is a situation that requires both tact and finesse. Fortunately, I'm blessed with both.

"Where's Potter, Black?"

Ha.

Ha, ha.

Ha, ha, ha.

For those who are wondering, Lily hasn't gone blind. And no, she is not doing the whole'ignore-the-person-right-in-front-of-you-and-ask-people-around-you-where-said-person-is-to-make-said-person-feel-like-poo' thing. That is _so _second year.

Yes, previously I had been sitting in the window seat of the Three Broomsticks right next to Sirius, being verbally harassed and wishing him bodily harm, and seeing as she is _not _blind, as addressed previously, and not ignoring me like a two year old (also addressed previously) she should be able to see me, right?

**WRONG**.

Because, me being impeccably smart, ingenious, practically brain-endowed by Merlin himself, I have come up with a genius plan. In approximately two split-seconds. Be proud of me. You know you want to be.

Want to hear my plan? Sure you can keep a secret? I wouldn't want to be flaunting my brilliance to the whole world. That would just be mean.

So.

I have just nose dived under the table with blinding speed so that my movement was invisible to the naked eye.

Indeed.

It is quite a success story. I'm getting teary just thinking about it.

I was so fast, in fact, that I swear if you concentrated, you probably could have heard a little _whoosh _of air rush into the vacuum that my body had just vacated.

I lift my head up from the foetal position and see an impatient toe tapping straight in front of my nose. A pair of red shoes is behind her, also tapping one foot.

Sirius looks down at me inconspicuously, and grins. I pull on his trouser leg, and whisper-snap, "I swear to God, Merlin and Buddah, and all the pie that has ever been eaten, that if you do not keep your fucking mouth shut, I will stab you, bake you into a meat pie and eat you with ketchup!"

"No, not a pie!" he faux-gasps, and his grin spreads wider across his face.

"Paddy…"

I hope my tone conveys just how much pain he will be in before I cook him into said pie.

"I like ketchup," he continues smugly, and throwing his head back, lets a bellow storm out of his mouth.

"JAMES IS HERE, LILY!"

I guess my tone didn't do its job properly.

I watch in slow motion as his monstrous index finger turns falls from the air towards my face and he points at me, his expression almost giddy. Oh, he _will _die tonight.

The legs in front of me widen in a defensive stand. I can almost imagine her crossing her arms and glaring down at the surface of the table.

At the thought, I give the table leg a little stroke. Poor little thing, taking the heat of the battle trying to protect me.

"Potter, get out from underneath the table."

I grab the table leg. "No."

"James."

I scoot closer and hug it to my chest. She will not entice me with her 'frist-name-basis' flirting. No siree.

"James, you're embarrassing yourself."

"And us," A voice sneers from behind her. "Get the hell out and stop acting like you're three."

Now it's the old 'save your manliness and ego' trick. It's too late. My ego got trampled over by an elephant. It needs time to heal, not more beating. And really doesn't care if it is tiny and crushed.

"Hey, don't order my friend around!"

Of course, the turd defends his best friend only when his sworn enemy says something about him. When said best friend is getting humiliated and practically destroyed in the middle of the street, nothing is done, of course.

I hear Lily sigh, and her foot stops tapping. "James," she mutters. "Honestly. Public humiliation. As we speak. Just get out from underneath the table before everyone thinks you are some sort of retard."

"Better a living retard than a dead James."

"Well, you deserved everything I did to you. You're still _alive _aren't you?

"Barely."

"Consider that compassionate. You owe it to my respect for human life."

I poke my head from underneath the table, and look up at her, frowning. She looks rather frightening from this angle. Her nostrils look about large enough to swallow me. "You're a bully," I blurt before I lose my nerve.

I proceed to retreat into the protective cocoon of Janice (yes, I have named the table – it seemed insensitive to call it 'the table' after we've been through so much together) and hold her leg tighter.

Janice's, that is. Not Lily's.

"Merlin, stop being such a _baby_!"

"Baby?!" I shuffle out from underneath Janice and majestically raise myself to my full height and dominate the room and the conversation.

In my head.

In reality, I try to shuffle out, hit my head on the side of Janice (TRAITOR), rise to my feet, and then slap my forehead against the chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

Nursing a broken head now, among other things, I shout indignantly. "BABY?! So far I've been embarrassed, beaten up, strangled, insulted, ridiculed, and have now been punched in the face by a chandelier. DOES THAT SOUND LIKE SOMETHING A BABY COULD LIVE THROUGH?!"

"Actually," Sirius pipes up, choosing this precise moment to participate in the conversation, his index finger in the air, "My five year old cousin fell fourteen floors and survived –"

"Shut up, Sirius – "

"Shut up, Black –"

" – Well he did conjure a pillow underneath himself mid-fall, so that was good, but the example still is valid, we were very proud – display of magic at such an early age –"

"That's not the point," I mutter dismissively, and bat a hand at him impatiently. He shuts up, looking mildly put out. "I suppose you don't have to give a flying monkey's left testicle whether I was alive?" I mutter judgementally, rounding on Lily.

She looks at me for a bit, and I think I see a bit of remorse in there somewhere.

"Oh, pish-posh," she throws off my glare finally, waving her hand about. "I merely slapped you around a bit."

"A bit?"

Brilliant. My voice was about seven octaves higher, and my head cocked along with the sound. I looked kind of like an offended ostrich, I think.

My ego has taken another blow, ladies and gentlemen. Please take your seats, get out your popcorn and chocolates and watch as it dwindles away. I hope you enjoy the show.

It shouldn't be very long, now.

She's looking at me, her expression measured. "Fine," she blurts, her hands flying up and clasping back around her thighs in defeat. For a second I misinterpret it as another physical threat and twitch, but her hands have come down. Thank Merlin.

Fists of fury, alright? You can't blame me for being afraid.

"I'm sorry I beat you up. Okay? The bully is apologizing. Satisfied? Is your ego healed?"

"A bit," I repeat. Oh, how I lie. The Jamsie inside smiles smugly.

Great, even I'm calling myself Jamsie now. Perfect nickname. Must come up with and equally pooftery name for Padfoot.

Something ingeniously clever.

Like…Sinus…or Sniffle…Snail…or something girly that starts with a S….

Snarly? That's not very girly. Must give this more thought later.

Lily stays there, looking at me, and I at her, and Sirius and Taylor are doing God knows what, and I don't really care because my Lily-flower is looking at me and I at her and her eyes are so pretty and I want to drown in them because her eyes look like trees – no – no – grass – or perhaps a grasshopper – and so pretty – and so pretty – but so pretty –

"I need a drink," A voice cuts in as Taylor eyes our staring match, looking slightly queasy. She sits herself down next to Janice and waves the waiter over.

Sirius sighs, seating himself next to her, and slamming Janice (NO!) in a very manly way with his fist. "Finally a voice of reason."

Lily and I finally break eye contact, and she moves forward to sit next to Taylor.

"Sirius," I say, annoyed, as I sit down, "If you hit Janice again I'll throw my elephant at you."

-*-*-*-*-

I really don't have the heart to ask you guys to review, but if you do, I'll be ecstatic. Thanks for reading, and I'll try to update!

Johnnydicaprio


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